Suzy Says

Orange is the new pink at my house!

Of course, there’s also pink. It is my signature color, after all. But I love the pop of color of the orange with the white walls and the woodwork in my house:

It all started when I noticed how much the cats had shredded the old chair, so I decided to replace it with something a little more claw-proof. I settled on a lovely orange leather chair:

It reminded me that I still had the beautiful orange vase made by the beautiful Aaron back in the coffin factory days, so I fished that out and put it next to the TV, as you can see above. I later added the little orange porcelain chrysanthemum I picked up while I was in the Valley recently:

I replaced the pink rug with a multi-colored one that I think pulls together the cushion collection on the couch:

Of course, now I’m thinking that the couch looks rather dreary and worn, so I will have to start saving my pennies for a new one. My dear friend A thinks tangerine velvet would be a good and cat-proof choice. Apparently cats, unlike Suzys, do not enjoy velvet. Maybe it feels unpleasant on their paws or something.

I was unlucky and then lucky with the carpet, because it got lost en route and they sent out another one. I eventually received both of them. I notified the place I bought them/it from, and they declined to take the second one back, so I basically got a free carpet, or two for the price of one. I think having the second one does define the living areas quite nicely:

Sometimes change can be good. And colorful.

FIVE YEARS AGO: All the kitty news that’s fit to print.

TEN YEARS AGO: Audrey’s birthday was not exactly festive.

I had a little more research to do, and this time, it took me south to Anderson Valley instead of north to the Village. Stop me if you’ve heard this before, but it was a beautiful day for a drive. The ocean looked like a postcard, and it wasn’t long before I was driving past the ancient, sky-high redwoods, with the sun flickering through the tree tops. I was pleased to see that most of the traffic was heading the other way, though I was pretty much taking my time and admiring the scenery as best I could while navigating the curvy roads.

Not long after leaving Navarro, where I noticed that the store once again has their barbecue up and going, it was time to put on the air conditioning and be grateful for modern conveniences.

My destination was The Madrones, where Megan and I explored a couple of years ago (has it been that long?). It is a beautiful, Mediterranean style enclave:

including accommodations, tasting rooms for local wine, charming shops, and a restaurant with an inviting, shade-dappled terrace:

You enter the restaurant through a little shop filled with quirky treasures:

I have to admit I picked up a treasure of my own, a little porcelain chrysanthemum. I just fell for it and decided it would be the perfect companion for the orange vase in my living room, which it is:

The restaurant is famous for its wood-fired oven and for using high quality local meats and produce. They have a pizza night on Mondays which I would like to check out. Pizza made in a wood-fired oven is the best.

I got a fantastic sandwich: chicken roasted in the wood-fired oven with smoked bacon, aioli, lettuce, pickled carrots, and herbs, all on a house-made roll:

I now want to learn how to make picked carrots. My good friend A, the queen of all things gastronome, has sent me a recipe to try, so stay tuned on that.

On my way home, I stopped in at Gowan’s, where I got apple cider, fresh walnuts and almonds, raspberries, and strawberries. Just up the road, I stopped to take a picture of these classic beauties, reposing peacefully in someone’s yard:

I was glad to get back to the sea breezes of the coast, but I love visiting the Valley, despite its oven-like heat. I love the rolling golden hills, the undulating waves of green vines, and the deep pools of live oaks. It’s a special place.

A YEAR AGO: Adventures in baking.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Enjoying the quilt show. And the fact that we still had Star.

TEN YEARS AGO: Jonathan’s dog-sitting was a little too adventurous, even for him.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: It’s good when bad neighbors move out.

I needed to do a little research for a writing project, so I headed to the Village.

It was a beautiful day, with the fog just misting the trees:

On my way in, I stopped by the museum in Little River. It is a modest building, easily missed on a curvy part of the highway. Over its long history, it has served many purposes in our little community, including a place to vote. It was built in the 1800s, and has a remarkable ceiling made of curved pieces cut from a single redwood trunk.

In keeping with my graveyard theme, the museum had an exhibit about the cemetery in Little River, where I have often walked. It is a lovely, peaceful place, and they put in a lot of work to document each grave and find out as much about the occupants as they could. Some were pioneer settlers to this far-flung part of the world. It’s good to know that they are not forgotten.

There were also some historic photos of Hooterville. It never ceases to amaze me that there used to be a bustling lumber mill on the beach under the Hooterville bridge, complete with housing, a hotel, and a store, along with everything needed to mill and ship the mighty coastal redwoods, but there is no sign of any of it now.

When I got to the Village, it was awash in visitors. To be fair, it was a fine summer Saturday, so really, what else would I expect? I did my research as quickly as possible, and popped into the book store to get my birthday gift certificates. I didn’t even bother to pet the Great Catsby, such was my hurry to escape the company of my fellow man. Everyone was in my way as I picked up a few things at the one grocery store, and then a pizza for dinner, even though I had called ahead for the pizza and it was ready and waiting for me.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the Village and back to the Hooterville backwater. You know you are a backwoods-dwelling bumpkin when a bunch of tourists immediately get on your nerves. I couldn’t wait to get back home to the peace and quiet and the kitties.

A YEAR AGO: I never know what I’ll find on my way to work.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Oh, Junapalooza! I miss you!

TEN YEARS AGO: Unboxing the grand old grandfather clock in my old house. I still miss that crazy place.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Nothing goes better with a B movie than an A class cocktail.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Haha! Shocked by our neighbor asking for nearly half a million when she was selling her apartment across the hall from us. Our old place is now worth $1.3 million, even though it still has people above, people below, and no parking space. We paid $200,000 for it back in the dark ages. Or maybe the light ages!

Maybe it’s weird, or morbid, but I have always liked walking in cemeteries. They are peaceful places, and make me feel connected to history. It seems I have made several of these faintly macabre strolls over the two decades (and counting) I have been penning this blog, on both coasts, from Sleepy Hollow to closer to home.

The latest morbid meander was in Anchor Bay, while waiting for the Thai restaurant to open. As befits a townlet the size of Anchor Bay (population 340), the cemetery is on the petite side, and oddly (at least to me), it has houses literally pushed up against the graveyard fence. The cemetery was there long before the houses. Perhaps the answer is the stunning graveside view:

While I enjoy meandering through cemeteries, I don’t think I’d have a lot of enthusiasm for living right next to one, view or no view. At least the neighbors would be quiet.

Little Edna has a quite magnificent marker:

Though the leaf at the foot of the stone has cracked with time:

These are quite poignant in their simplicity:

This couple chose a more humorous memorial:

I am pleased to see that Betty is still dancing in this world and not yet in the next.

Some of the graves had animal themes:

I wonder if this person said they’d die when pigs flew:

It looks like Pat, or his family, also had a sense of humor:

It’s nice to see the connection between the long-ago residents and the more recent ones. It must have been challenging living here in the 1800s. It’s still remote; I can’t imagine how remote it must have been when you had to rely on horses to get here and get around. They must have been strong people back then.

On my way home, I finally grabbed a photo of Point Arena from the south:

For some reason, it reminds me of the white cliffs of Dover. And how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place.

A YEAR AGO: Celebrating my little Clyde’s birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A swarm of bees.

TEN YEARS AGO: Dinner with Erica and Jessica. I miss them.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Dogs and groceries don’t mix.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Haha! I thought gas was expensive at $2 a gallon! It’s now over $4.

Cheers to Me!

With the way Memorial Day fell – closer to my birthday than my sister’s, where it is usually located – I felt like I was hardly working for a little while there. I took time off over the Memorial Day weekend, and my birthday fell conveniently on a Friday, so I took that off, too. Why not?

Also, I am just opposed to working on my birthday, unless I absolutely have to. I figure it’s the one day a year when I should get what I want, no questions asked*. I even left early on my birthday eve, and stopped by Angelika’s place to get my hair cut. It was lovely to sit in her little salon and watch the hummingbirds at the feeder:

And the little quails walking by like little wind-up toys, the plumes on their heads waving in the breeze. I loved my hair:

I always feel better both inside and out after visiting Angelika. There is something about her and the lovely place she lives and works that is just healing to one’s spirit.

On the great day itself, I got up after the sun did – usually I am far ahead of lazy old Sol, though he tends to catch up with me during the summer months – made some coffee, and went back to bed with the coffee and the cats for a while, reading my fan mail and enjoying the peaceful quiet of my house and the beauty of the late spring day unfolding through the many windows.

I set off southwards – I noticed that during my time off, I headed south rather than north, toward the Big Town – and my first stop was at Franny’s Cup & Saucer:

where I got a champagne cupcake with blackberry icing, decorated with rose petals, and a flawless cannelé de Bordeaux. Up next was the Surf Market in Gualala, where I picked up a sandwich and an Orangina to enjoy overlooking the ocean:

Last but not least was Anchor Bay Thai:

Where I picked up the perfect dinner: fresh spring rolls, chicken satay, and Massaman curry. I waited on the patio, which has just a few tables and fairy lights strung around the trees. I have to come back and have dinner there one evening. But on this evening, I brought my fabulous dinner home and enjoyed it with some sparkling pink wine and the sparkling Rear Window. It was a great birthday.

*Of course, I feel that way the other 364 days of the year, but it’s harder to enforce then.

A YEAR AGO: A happy birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Clyde’s birthday. My baby boy.

TEN YEARS AGO: The boys turned one!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Door to door godliness.

I took a couple of extra days off around the Memorial Day weekend (first long weekend of the summer!), so I had five days off in a row. Doesn’t it seem like it should be five days off and two days on when it comes to work? Especially if you got paid for the five days instead of the two?

A girl can dream.

I am pleased to announce that nothing disastrous happened, as it so often does when I have the temerity to take time off from work. No sudden crowns were necessary, and it was not 5,000 degrees. I appreciated this. Also the simple pleasures, like getting up when it was light outside, and even going to the post office.

The post office is closed when I go to work, and closed when I go home, so it’s not easy for me to get there when it is open. I bought stamps and collected some birthday cards and a package, which contained the latest addition to my collection of cute measuring cups (you can see the cute pear measuring cups in the background):

They are embossed with a pretty design and look like little trophies. On the back of the big one, it says “Number 1 Baker” in raised letters. This is patently untrue, but maybe having cute measuring cups will inspire me to cook more.

I also ventured to the nearby town of Elk:

It was a postcard day, with the Pacific a deep and stunning blue, no fog in sight. The rolling hills have turned their summer gold, and are filled with drifts of pink, white, and purple wildflowers, along with bright orange poppies and nasturtiums. The cows and sheep have new babies, and the air is full of bird song.

I picked up a sandwich at the charming Elk Store:

from its quaint vintage display case:

It was a panini with Swiss cheese, cornichons, and pastrami, and it was delicious. I took it to a picnic table overlooking the ocean:

And enjoyed the view as I enjoyed the sandwich:

Even though it was a holiday weekend, Elk was not crowded, unlike most destinations in this resort area. So that was nice, too. Still, I was glad to get back to my quiet house, where all you can hear is the wind in the trees and the birds singing, to do a little gardening and hang out with the kitties.

A YEAR AGO: A look around the garden at the family estate.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Haha! A rare visit to the post office!

TEN YEARS AGO: Visiting a friend’s garden. I seem to have a couple of themes going this time of year.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Birthday plans for my birthday week.

A milestone birthday like 50 deserves some recognition! Fortunately, Megan’s one Saturday off in May was the one right before her big day. So she picked me up that sunny Saturday afternoon and we headed to our favorite seaside bar.

It was the perfect day for a cocktail by the ocean:

The restaurant’s garden was looking lovely:

and the beautiful, long-haired black cat who lives at the restaurant wasted no time in allowing us to pet and admire him. He is a very handsome boy, and he must have a great life, living on fabulous fine dining leftovers and being admired by locals and tourists alike. He basked in the sun, blinking his big green eyes and keeping us company as we enjoyed our drinks and chatted.

On our way to Megan’s place, we stopped for a moment to admire the ocean. Megan said how lucky we are that this is our backyard, and that this wonderful, beautiful place is our local bar. I have to agree.
I took a quick look around the garden at the family estate, picking some arugula and admiring the future pies:

We celebrated with some local sparkling wine and some fabulous pizza from Café Beaujolais, thoughtfully picked up by Rob, who was also my designated driver and tolerant of the girl movie fiesta that went with the pizza. He is the best.

Monica took Megan out for dinner on her actual birthday, so all in all, she had a great 50th birthday. I’m hoping that we can figure out a day to have a family party as well. It’s challenging with our schedules being so different, but it’s a pretty special occasion and deserves to be celebrated. The more celebration, the better!

A YEAR AGO: We lost The Beautiful Harriet. She is still missed.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Some enjoyable time off.

TEN YEARS AGO: A little on the grumpy side.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Enjoying The Brain That Wouldn’t Die. It’s one of my all-time favorite bad movies.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Thinking of my grandfathers on Memorial Day.

Spring

It was foggier than I expected when I left for work this morning. Even though I have not yet switched from my winter scent to my summer scent, I have stopped wearing my coat. Most mornings, I have the heat on in the car, and in the afternoons, I have the windows down. This is spring in California.

It’s been a beautiful spring. Ever since the cherry blossoms made their billowy pink appearance in February, it’s been a riot of bloom and blossom everywhere, from creamy apple and pear blossoms to blazing California poppies and shy wild irises. Even the orchid finally bloomed after months of being in bud, though it is less showy this year than in years past.

I have really been enjoying spring this year. I am beginning to wonder if it might be my favorite season now. When I lived back east, fall was always my favorite, signaling an end to the hot, humid horror of summer with crisp air and woodsmoke and the brilliance of the changing leaves. But here, spring signals the end of winter darkness, the return of light and the beauty of flowers everywhere, bees buzzing and birds singing. It feels like hope.

A YEAR AGO: Tales from the ER.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Changeable weather.

TEN YEARS AGO: A visit to the City.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: My own campy film festival.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: A movie at the local movie house! Those were the days!

Voilà!

I have been spectacularly demotivated in the kitchen lately. I have not lost my enthusiasm for trading recipes with my BFF Alice and reading them in the missives from the New York Times Cooking editors, but there seems to be a long way between interest and execution these days.

I have been meaning to make my own falafel (how hard can it be?) and tabouli*. I went so far as to get dried chickpeas for the falafel – apparently, using canned chickpeas is the Number One reason that home-made falafel fails – and bulgar wheat for the tabouli, but they continue to languish in the Closet of Doom, alone and unloved. Tidying up the Closet of Doom is another project that I have failed to complete and which remains on my ever-cluttered radar.

While it’s still spring and rhubarb is still in season, I intend to try a recipe for roasted rhubarb cobbler. At least I have not bought the rhubarb for it, since it would likely end up in the compost, where it would probably not delight the ravens and foxes. One of these days/weekends/maybe never…

But for some reason, on Sunday, I decided it was time to make the tourtière that has been under consideration all year. I originally planned to make it for New Year’s, but that resolution faded before the year began, quite possibly a personal best (or worst?) for not keeping a resolution. That sunny Sunday morning seemed like the perfect time.

I used a new to me recipe for the crust, which includes a tablespoon of cider vinegar, and I think that makes it extra flaky. I pulsed everything in the food processor, which makes it easier.

While I was rolling out the crust, I heard a thud. I went over to the sliding glass doors next to the kitchen counter and saw that a very small, very bright yellow-green bird was lying on the deck, having flown into the glass doors. My heart sank, and I thought, That’s a bad sign. It made me sad to see that poor little guy out there. Clyde and Dodge were both fascinated, and for a fleeting moment, I considered letting them out there to put the injured bird out of his misery. I hated to think of him dying slowly out there.

I went back to the pie making, and after a while, checked on the bird. He had moved to a different part of the deck, so I began to hope. After I put the pie in the oven, I looked again, and he was gone! He had recovered enough to fly off! It made me really happy. I’m glad he’s out there somewhere, singing.

*I learned how to make this from another high school friend when we were still in high school. Her father was from Beirut. He used to grow carnations, and when I went to her house, he would always cut some and give them to me, saying, “For you. Very beautiful.” I never knew if he meant me or the carnations.

A YEAR AGO: Celebrating Dodge’s birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A busy, but delightful, weekend.

TEN YEARS AGO: Some yard sale scores.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Dreaming about Mom.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Oh, the things you see in San Francisco when you are out and about when night meets day!

Recovering

Dodge, the formerly stray cat from the mean streets of the Big Town, is a little sneakyboots. If he wants to go outside, he will lurk and plan and plot and find a way to escape from the Big House.

Usually, he makes a break for it during the daytime, when I am preoccupied with importing groceries or exporting compost. I have learned that there is absolutely no point in calling him or trying to catch him. He will come in when he’s good and ready, and not a second before. And when he does, he just strolls in casually, like he’s coming home from work or something.

Clyde is never casual about Dodge’s illicit excursions into the Wide World. He always sniffs Dodge all over carefully to ascertain where he has been and what he’s been doing, but Clyde himself is no longer interested in exploring the Unknown. Losing his brother Roscoe affected him profoundly, more than the near-death encounter with the Slobber Monster. I think Clyde either saw it happen or knows what happened to Roscoe. He definitely stays close to home.

One night, Dodge sneaked out into the darkness. I could not see him or stay awake, so I turned on all the outside lights and hoped for the best. I was rewarded by the sight of my wayward youngest cat sitting on the back porch in the early morning darkness the next day. He came inside and it was immediately clear that he was not his usual self.

Far from being the insouciant boulevardier he used to be, he was quiet and slow moving. He did not eat, and he sat like an uncomfortable loaf of bread instead of curling up on the heater or basking in the sun. I checked him all over for wounds or sore spots, but found none. I was beginning to fear that he had eaten something bad or even poisonous outside, especially when he started hiding under the bed.

I tried not to panic or worry, and my uncharacteristic patience was rewarded by Dodge slowly beginning to seem more like his old self, though, like Clyde, I don’t think he will ever be quite the same. Also like Clyde, I don’t know what happened out there, but it was enough to scare Dodge pretty badly. I noticed that some of the fur on top of his head had gone pure white, like Marie Antoinette’s hair was said to have gone white overnight, and the place where the Slobber Monster grabbed Clyde is pure white against his black fur. I guess it’s a reaction to trauma.

Whatever happened that night, Dodge has, at least temporarily, been unbounced. I’m just glad he’s safe.

A YEAR AGO: The beauty of spring.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A beautiful day in the Village.

TEN YEARS AGO: Getting contacts.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: My street must have had some interesting zoning laws. I imagine it is pretty much wall to wall condos now.

Not much to report these days. This morning, the moon was huge and orange, peeking coyly out from billowing lavender clouds as I drove to work. We got some much-needed rain this weekend. It poured for a short time. We need every drop we can get, with a total of a mere 20 inches for the season. We should get more like 50. When Jonathan first moved here – which I realize was nearly 30 years ago! – there used to be closer to 70 inches. Climate change is definitely real.

The search continues for a companion for Stella. It is the first time Megan has had to go out looking for a dog. Usually, they find her, like Star and Stella did, both what we affectionately call “foster fails”. I realized last week marked the day Megan and I took an all-day road trip to pick up Star. I think Star knew that day that she had found her forever home; it just took the humans a little while to figure it out. All our lives changed that day.

I hope we can find someone who makes Stella feel happy and keeps her company.

I was saddened to hear of Prince Philip’s death. I wish he had been able to make it to his 100th birthday and the Queen’s 95th. He was so close! I watched his service, on a glorious spring day at ancient Windsor Castle. I was moved by the beauty of the music he had chosen and the presence of the military to honor his lifetime of service, including active duty, and dedication to Queen and country.

It was touching to see his family accompanying him to the chapel, particularly Princess Anne, who was known to be his favorite and who shared his love of horses and strong sense of duty and integrity. In her face, I saw reflected the same grief I felt for my own father 20 years ago, and the determination of having to get through the ceremony and the lifetime of grief that follows.

When the Queen arrived at the chapel for the service, I could have sworn I saw her instinctively turn and look where Prince Philip should have been, as if seeking his reassurance before facing the ordeal ahead. She looked so small and alone. She has lost her beloved companion of 73 years, the last to call her Lilibet and to remember her as a young woman, to remember her parents. She has lost so much with losing him. My heart aches for the Queen, woman to woman and mourner to mourner.

Somehow, Jessica turned 18! I’m not sure how this happened, or how it happened so quickly. We sent her some gifts, which I hope she enjoyed. We have essentially been out of touch since she and Erica moved, though Erica and I text each other from time to time. I guess it was inevitable that Jessica would outgrow her auntourage. I hope that one day, we find our way back to each other. She will always have a special place in my heart.

A YEAR AGO: Weekend routine.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My house was an internet-free zone. It was harder than you would believe to get it repaired.

TEN YEARS AGO: A sad, but loving, farewell.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Just another morbid Wednesday.

At our non-existent Christmas, Megan gave me a gift certificate to get my hair highlighted, and I finally got around to cashing it in.

It was a glorious spring day as Wednesday and I headed Angelika-ward. Lately, I seem to be enjoying spring more than usual, even though it means that summer and its attendant heat are on the way. The trees on the curves in Little River are sporting their new spring leaves, an almost achingly beautiful shade of transparent green they only have this time of year. I don’t know what these trees are, but I look forward to their showing off their spring finery every year. It’s our version of Fashion Week.

Cherry blossoms, camellias, daffodils and calla lilies are gone, replaced by bright flags of California poppies and the heady fragrance and exquisite blossoms of my favorite flowers, lilacs. The ocean was a deep, postcard blue, accented by lacy white caps as the water dashed eternally against the dark rocks of the shore. A raven’s dark wings glinted in the sun as he swooped over the Big River bridge, that mystical post where the river meets the sea.

Angelika greeted me with a hug, and we spent the next few hours with the door to her little salon:

open to her beautiful garden:

I brought Angelika a little succulent in a pink egg planter with a little silver bunny for Easter. It just looked so her. I am pleased to say she loved it, and it looked right at home right away:

Her neighbor’s dog Cookie came in for pets. She is white, but has the cutest light brown freckles on her ultra soft ears. It was fun to have her company while Angelika made my hair blonder and better. Maybe I always say this, but I think this was the best color ever. I always feel happier when my hair is brighter. And I always love spending time with Angelika. We have such great conversations, and being around her positive energy is healing to my soul. I will go back soon to get my hair cut.

I went on my way new and improved. My boss asked me to stop by work, and she admired my hair as soon as she saw me. She also gifted me with an adorable Easter basket. Haven’t I always said that grown ups should be the ones to get Easter baskets? It was so thoughtful of her. I am so lucky to have such an amazing boss and such good friends in my life.

A YEAR AGO: Enjoying the beauty around me.

FIVE YEARS AGO: And still more beauty, inside and out.

TEN YEARS AGO: The arrival of spring.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Even errands were more fun with the Lovely Rita by my side.

When I arrived at work yesterday, I was somewhat taken aback to see that the door was ajar. It was even more unnerving since Daylight Saving Time plunged us back into morning darkness, which we all know is entire evil point of it.

The door needs an ID badge to open, and opens and closes (at least, theoretically) automatically, with no human intervention needed, other than the application of the company-issued ID card (from the outside) or a sweep of the hand past the sensor (on the inside). It is supposed to be touchless.

The alarm is right inside the door, and it was turned off. You need a special assigned code to turn it off. Hmm.

I closed the door manually, and then called out for the coworker who often arrives around the same time I do, even though Wednesday was the only car in the parking lot. I walked through the clinic, but it was a human-free zone at that early hour. I was relieved that there were no unauthorized visitors wandering the halls, but I was also wondering, as Iggy Pop would put it, what the hell? What the heck?

I later learned that another colleague had arrived early that day, done a few critical things, and then gone to get coffee, setting the stage for the mystery. She thought the door had closed behind her, and maybe it had, and then popped open again. The doors were easier to deal with and rely on when they worked by hand instead of (allegedly) automatically, in my change-resistant opinion.

A YEAR AGO: Thinking about Mom.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A field trip to Willits.

TEN YEARS AGO: A different kind of mystery.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Come to Tuscany with me, circa 1984.

The moon was huge and blazing orange this morning. I wondered what the light was through the dark trees, and it turned out to be my old friend the moon. She was so beautiful that I actually gasped out loud. By the time I got to the ocean, I could barely see a glimpse of her as she slid into the fog bank above the water, so I couldn’t take a picture. Not that I have ever taken a good picture of the moon.

As I drove down the darkling Ridge this morning, an owl swooped low in front of my car, perhaps in search of an early breakfast. I instinctively ducked – as if my lowering my head inside the car would help! – and also braked, and we both emerged from the encounter unscathed. I love owls. If I had a totem animal, I think it would be an owl.

I also saw a group of young deer heading home after being out all night. It’s the baby animal time of year. It’s definitely spring now. The trees are leafed out in that translucent green they only have in spring, the California poppies are unfurling their bright orange blossoms by the side of the road, joined by spiky purple irises. The magnolia blossoms at the library have been replaced by lilacs, my favorites.

Despite the beauty of the season and the hopefulness it typically brings, we are still feeling sad at the loss of Star. Stella has been taking the loss of her companion harder than we expected. Stella is normally such a happy-go-lucky dog that we didn’t expect her sadness, though when you think about the fact that they were always together:

And that this change is as big in Stella’s life as it is in Rob’s and Megan’s, it only makes sense that big, goofy Stella is also grieving. For several days after Star’s death, Stella went back to the place she died and sniffed it. She also sniffed where Star used to sleep and eat. I guess we are all adjusting to the After phase of our lives.

Megan is making an effort to take Stella out to meet other people and dogs. She has always been super friendly, but Star was reserved and suspicious of strangers, so it was best for her to stay home, so that meant that Stella stayed home, too. But now she can walk around the Village and enjoy the attention she invariably gets, as well as the view from the Headlands:

Megan is planning to have Stella meet some friends’ dogs and perhaps take some classes as well. You may remember that she passed her Canine Good Citizenship class on the first try, though she might need a refresher course.

Megan and I enjoyed a night of GirlTV™ (Emily in Paris! Where is Season 2 already?) and GirlTalk™ (Tales from the ER!) last weekend. We are lucky that Rob is so tolerant of both these things.

A YEAR AGO: You can bring a girl to Michelin-starred food, but you can’t make her eat it.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Setting up the grandfather clock and remembering its history.

TEN YEARS AGO: Indoor and outdoor flooding.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Jump in the wayback machine with me! We’re going to Italy, circa 1984.

Seems we’ve all been wondering what day it is. Even those of us who have never stopped working never seem to know what day or time it is. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what time of year it is, too.

I’m not alone in this. Here are some messages from the local message boards:

Today’s Date Is?(subject line; nothing in body of message)

Response 1:

Medjool dates grow in Dateland Arizona. It’s in Yuma county. I drove thru there on the way to New Mexico from San Diego.

Response 2:

Today’s date is Medjool.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medjool

Medjool is a large, sweet cultivated variety of date (Phoenix
dactylifera) from the Tafilalt region of Morocco, also grown in the
United States, Israel, Iran, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, Jordan, Palestine.

The variety is planted both for harvesting and for landscaping. The
Medjool is a distinct landrace, described as producing “large soft
fruit, with orange-yellowish flesh, and a mildly rich and pleasing flavor.”

Israel, with its advanced wastewater recycling technologies, currently
owns more than 60 percent of the global Medjool market share, making it
the largest exporter of Medjool dates in the world.

You’re welcome.

Response 3:

By way of our old and dear departed friend Yogi Berra.

Somebody once asked Yogi what time it was.

He looked back at the fellow and without skipping a beat replied:
“You mean right now?”

Response 4:

Time is….of the essence! So I suppose it’s one of those new perfumes at $38 per ounce?

Response 5:

Right on schedule!

A YEAR AGO: Those naughty kitties.

FIVE YEARS AGO: An update from the local message boards.

TEN YEARS AGO: My dear friend A was finally released from intensive care. I continue to be grateful that she survived.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A little under the weather.

It was a beautiful day, and it had been a long time since I had ventured down to the south coast. It seemed like a good idea to head that way.

I tried not to think about how little rain we have had so far this season: only about 16 inches. It should have been more like 50 at this point in the year. I am afraid that there is a drought and a bad fire season in our future. But I pushed those thoughts aside as I headed down the Ridge, passing the wild turkey family hanging out together by the side of the road.

The ocean was feeling pretty that day, turquoise with foamy, lacy white waves and whitecaps. There were merry drifts of yellow daffodils, waxy white calla lilies, and billows of pink flowering cherries in the fields beside the highway. The afternoon light was golden on the rolling hills and the windswept cypress trees arching over the road. I love those tree bowers.

I have wanted to take some pictures of the signs on the trees approaching Point Arena, and this was finally the day:

I love them and how they tell everyone, as Springsteen put it, “who we are, what we’ll do, and what we won’t”. The signs have also thanked fire fighters and first responders.

I ordered Thai food from Anchor Bay and then headed down the road to Gualala while they cooked it for me. I grabbed a BLT and an Orangina* in the Surf Market and had a little picnic overlooking the ocean. It was windy, but beautiful. I get the feeling that winter is nearly over, though I could be wrong about that.

I picked up my dinner to go, and went back the way I had come, past the fields of cows, hills glowing as the sun began to sink into the ocean. I still got home before it was dark, though dinner was later than the cats would have liked. I enjoyed the Thai food with a glass of pink sparkling wine and Pacific Heights, a movie set in (though not filmed in) my old ‘hood, and which I hadn’t seen since I actually lived there. It was a fun end to a good day.

*I first had Orangina 40 years ago, when I was an au pair in Nice, on the beautiful French Riviera. It was love at first taste. I still love it, though I don’t have it very often. When I do, it always brings me right back to those long-ago summer days.

A YEAR AGO: A lovely dinner with my brother and his girlfriend.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Goodbye to beautiful Monterey.

TEN YEARS AGO: The excitement of snow!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Musings on education.

There Is not much to report from my little corner of the world these days. It’s been more hamster wheel-ish than usual, long days at work then falling into bed, often without bothering to eat, then getting up and doing it all over again. On the weekends, my sloth is pretty much out of control. Sometimes I just stay in my PJs and sit in bed all day, answering my fan mail and reading. The cats are all for this, and contribute to the general lack of activity by staying with me, napping and looking outrageously cozy as only sleeping cats can.

Somewhere along the line, I seem to have lost my cooking mojo, as well as my interest in eating. I can’t imagine actually doing project cooking, like tourti?re or making bagels. I can’t even be bothered to make (or eat) dinner half the time.

Despite my lack of interest in utilizing my teeth these days, I found that I needed yet another crown. This is the fourth one, which seems excessive to me. I wonder if this is a sign that I am falling apart and/or getting old. They seem to be coming thick and fast these days. I hadn’t even finished paying for the third one when I had the fourth one installed. The bills are almost as painful as the shots needed for successful crown installation, and are big enough that there should be at least some jewels involved.

Meanwhile, over the family estate, there is actual internet that actually works! They were subjected to the horrors of satellite internet. Faithful readers may recall how little I enjoyed satellite internet. It’s very expensive and the service is horrible. Now that Megan is working at home for Stanford, she exceeded the teeny data limits and got slapped into internet prison. Much like regular prison, you can pay your way out, but that doesn’t always stop you from ending up back there.

A new service called Starlink came along (no relation to the actual Star), and it works at least as well as the internet at my house, maybe even better. So Megan can get her work done with impunity. She is hoping that the projects she is working on for Stanford will lead to other work like that that she can do at home. I hope so, too.

A YEAR AGO: It was eerily sunny then, too.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Stormy weather.

TEN YEARS AGO: Baking cookies is not one of my talents.

I noticed this morning that I could actually see the ocean as I drove past Van Damme, so the madness of the twice-yearly time change can’t be that far off. It took me a while to realize that the entire goal of said time change is to plunge me back into morning darkness at the first sign of a ray of hope of morning light.

It also makes me realize that despite what the Groundhog says about the winter (maybe his predictions only apply to his neighborhood), there isn’t that much left, and our rain opportunities are running out. Cherry trees are in full pink bloom, calla lilies have begun to unfurl their waxy white blossoms by the side of the road, and spiky iris leaves have joined the happy yellow daffodils.

So far, we have only received about 14 inches of rain this season. Some of the fields have not completely changed from their “golden” summer coast to their green winter wear. Not that I’m complaining, but we haven’t had any power outages so far this season, since there haven’t really been any storms. I am not in the correct mental state to face a power outage – that PSPS seems to have scarred me for life – but I am also worried about the lack of rain and what it means for the upcoming fire season. We should get more like 50 inches of rain in a winter, and I don’t think we are going to make it up in what remains of the winter, even if the Groundhog is right in his predictions.

A YEAR AGO: A confession.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful day in Point Arena with good friends.

TEN YEARS AGO: The first week at the jobette.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: You have been warned.

This morning, I had a magical moment while driving to work in the early morning darkness. As I reached the intersection of the highway and the old Ridge, I saw a magnificent stag standing calmly in the turning lane. He was unafraid of my car lights, and merely inclined his majestic head as I passed, bathed in golden light.

Usually, I worry about hitting a deer while driving, but not this time. It was like I somehow saw a private moment in that deer’s life, and something about the way he was standing in the middle of the road in the darkness made me certain that he would continue on his way, unhurt, wise to the ways of humans.

I am always on the lookout for deer, and am secretly convinced that hitting one with the car is much the same thing as when my siblings lived at Pier 39 and used to say of falling in the water, “There’s them that has and them that will”. In both cases, I remain in the “them that will” category, and in both cases, I fervently hope I remain there.

And much like I was darkly warned about mice years ago. There’s Never Just One. So if a deer meanders across the road, or appears in the headlights, or is hanging out on the side of the road, it’s wise to wait and see if he brought some friends, because the chances are pretty good that he has.

My siblings have a less romantic view of deer than I do. They consider them relentless garden destroyers and have fenced accordingly. I do have a fence around what passes for my garden, but I’m not always conscientious about closing the gate, and my geraniums paid the price. The deer ate all the leaves off of two of them – deer’s lack of temperance when nibbling on the landscape is one of my siblings’ objections to them – and though they are now recovering, I am trying to do better at keeping the gate closed.

The possibly apple or possibly crab apple trees next my house are almost as popular with deer as they are with the Bear. I have seen them leaping up gracefully to capture a piece of fruit, which they then eat daintily. They also have the added virtue of leaving the garbage alone, a trait for which I am grateful.

So I will continue to enjoy the sight of deer wandering down the driveway, and keep an eye out for them when I’m on the road, hopeful that I will never be “one that has.”

A YEAR AGO: Some cancelled plans.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Adventures in cooking.

TEN YEARS AGO: The horror of my longest-time friend’s near-fatal mystery illness. Still so grateful she survived.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Even zombies need credit cards.

I had a bit of an adventure getting to work today. As I approached Dark Gulch (a long, yet sharp curve which many drivers underestimate and which is deeply shadowed by tall trees, hence the name), I saw a brightly lit scene with firemen – never a good sign at 6:15 am, or anytime, really. It was my considered opinion that whatever was happening down there was not going to be fixed in time for me to get to work on time.

I turned Wednesday around and hailed the fireman who was controlling the as-yet nonexistent traffic, asking him what was going on. He said a big rig overturned and was leaking fuel. It seemed my original assessment was correct and it would be a while, so I headed back the way I came, toward the Road to Rio’s, just north of the Hooterville Bridge.I realized that I had probably not gone to Rio’s house all of last year. It had definitely been a while. One good thing about driving in the dark that early in the morning is that you can drive down the middle of the narrow, winding, steep road with impunity. If there’s oncoming traffic, the headlights will warn you.

The road seemed much longer than I remembered, and since it was unfamiliar, with trees looming over it, it felt a little creepy, too, like the setting of Stephen King story. Little did our heroine suspect that an unexpected detour would send her face to face with…murder! Of course it didn’t, but I was glad to see the lights of the Little River airport (it’s very small and only for private planes), knowing that I could soon turn left at the Y in the road and start following it to where the road meets the highway at the scenic cemetery.

I felt like I had spent a long time driving over the river and through the woods, but I still made it to work by 7:00 am. A small victory!

A YEAR AGO: Enjoying a play and other delights.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Things were in flux at work.

TEN YEARS AGO: Who doesn’t need a Hello Kitty bag?

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A delightful visit to my beloved friend K’s gracious oasis. Those were the days!