Suzy Says

The Albion Bridge

Our little corner of the world has been hit pretty hard lately.

Usually, it’s pretty uneventful here, and that’s the way we like it. So all these things happening in a town with an official population of 169 within less than a month really feels like a lot, even if the real population is, as I suspect, closer to 1,000 people.

A house next to the road my friend Jim lives on burned to the ground. Driving past afterwards, it was clear that it had burned fiercely and intensely and there was no hope of saving it. It was eerie and upsetting to see the charred remains, the brick chimney presiding over a heap of black.

Investigators discovered a badly burned skeleton that was later identified as one of the sons of the family who lived in the house. I didn’t know him personally, but he was a legendary wild man who grew up in Albion and was known for his outrageous antics, some of which can still be seen on YouTube. His was not an easy life, and it can’t have been an easy exit from it, either.

Speaking of exits, I unwittingly passed by the scene of a suicide a week or so ago. It was about 6:15 in the morning, and as I approached the Albion Bridge, I thought that the white SUV on it was driving really slowly. Getting closer, it was clear that it was parked on the bridge with the lights on. Fearing oncoming traffic coming around the blind curve there, and thinking it was a tourist admiring the view, I drove around it and kept going.

A few miles later, a highway patrol car passed me, and in another few miles, an ambulance. I didn’t make the connection with the car on the bridge until I heard on the radio that someone had jumped. It’s 150 feet to the ground (or the water) from the Bridge. The man who jumped did so facing the land rather than the ocean, much like suicides from the Golden Gate Bridge jump facing the City rather than the ocean.

He was an older gentleman and long-time resident who was recently diagnosed with dementia. I’m sorry to say that my landlord’s boyfriend, who had gone fishing early that morning, was the one to find him. My landlord told me that her boyfriend had a difficult home life and lived with the victim and his family when he was a teenager. It must have been so painful to find his protector like that. Heartbreak on top of heartbreak.

A few days after that, my former Ridge was closed for nearly six hours when a man from the South Coast doused himself and his car with gasoline after a long police chase from Point Arena, threatening to blow himself up. He was armed and apparently under the influence of drugs as well as having serious mental health issues. Together with the volunteer fore department, the Sheriff’s office was able to subdue him and take him into custody without any one being hurt or killed, a small but significant victory in such a situation.

In all the years my siblings and I have lived here, I don’t think I have ever heard of this kind of thing happening here, or of anyone jumping off the Albion Bridge. It makes me sad for our little town, and I wonder if the Wide World is now encroaching on our little haven here at the edge of the earth.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Losing a filling wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

TEN YEARS AGO: File under miscellaneous.

Harriet’s Tree

Soon after the loss of the Beautiful Harriet, my friend and coworker Michelle (who loves Megan and shares an office with her at work) and I bought a memorial tree in her honor. We had it shipped from nearby Humboldt County, and it arrived safe and sound, with lots of roots. It is a Moon Mountain Dogwood tree, just like the one on the Ridge I think of as the Dr. Seuss tree. Our family friend Blue Jay identified the tree for me so Michelle and I could buy it for Megan.

Harriet’s tree is about three feet tall, maybe a little more. I’m not sure how long it will take before it starts to make the flowers, but I’m looking forward to them. For those who haven’t seen this kind of tree, it looks like this:

The flowers last a long time and have that Dr. Seuss look. The whole tree looks like something out of one of his books, and I love that.

Rob made a really beautiful container for the tree. If you’re wondering why they didn’t just plant it in the ground, the ground is hard and the soil is poor here, so good soil has to be imported, whether it’s a big project, like the one acre family garden and orchard, or a more modest one, like Harriet’s tree.

The tree container is made from reused ceramic tiles. Rob found them and carefully beveled the edges so they would fit together. He also made the metal frame, soldering it together, and then planted flowers around the tree. It’s going to look amazing when it’s all grown in and the tree is flowering. It’s planted where it can be seen from the living room, too, so it can be enjoyed inside and out.

I think The Beautiful Harriet would approve. I wish she were here to see it.

A YEAR AGO: At the movies.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A visit from Erica. I miss her so much!

TEN YEARS AGO: A whole new window!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Farewell to my mother, after a long and courageous battle against breast cancer. She was a fighter and never gave up. Rest easy, Mom.

Summer is in full swing at the family estate. Apples are appling:

Peaches are peaching:

And pears are pearing:

There are more zucchini than we know what to do with – suggestions welcome – and strawberries, herbs, and raspberries galore. Peppers are close to being ready, and we were able to pluck a few Sungold tomatoes in the greenhouse. The San Marzanos are further away from ripeness and the saucepan, but the Meyer lemons are ripening nicely. I picked one and put it in my pocket after sniffing the stem end. It smelled amazing.

We are between lettuce crops now. The old ones are too old and bitter and the young ones are too small. So there’s more lettuce in our future, as well as in our past. I’m thinking of harvesting green coriander seed from the blooming cilantro. It’s supposed to be amazing.

I’m so lucky that I have access to the family garden. It’s further away than it used to be – 20 minutes each way, instead of 2 minutes each way – but I’m trying to shop there more often and enjoy the fresh produce while we have it. It’s already getting darker in the mornings, and summer is slipping by.

TEN YEARS AGO: The view from my bed at the old house. I still love that place.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Overheard in the city. And a couple of random Calamity Suzy epispodes. That’s how I roll (out of a hammock).

Just look at me!

Mostly, you know, Dodge is like a little angel. He is super affectionate, jumping against my legs asking to be petted – I am so glad he kept that endearing quirk – or pushing his head against me, purring loudly. If you have hands, you should be using them to pet him, is his general view.

He loves to play with Clyde, and Clyde is always glad to cuddle with Dodge or play with him. They enjoy lounging in the sunshine together.

And of course, he is incredibly beautiful. The Medical Director at work often stops by my office to ask how Dodge is.

Pretty much everyone loves Dodge except Audrey, and she has good reason to hate this handsome young interloper.

Dodge has an unfortunate penchant for chasing Audrey. The kindest interpretation of this is that he wants her to play with him, but I suspect he is just messing with her. Maybe because she’s old and more fragile than he is, or maybe he wants to stake a claim on his territory. Who knows?

Whatever his motivation, I am continually shooing him away from her. And for Audrey’s part, she growls whenever she sees him. If she is sitting next to me on the bed and he is at the foot of it, she keeps up a low-grade growl, letting everyone know of her displeasure with his existence.

Not that it deters Dodge any.

So lately I have let her outside on the rare occasions I am home, to give her a break from her hated roommate. Mostly, she sits on the porch and enjoys being in a Dodge-free zone. But on Sunday, I heard the unmistakable noise of an impending cat fight. Audrey and my landlord’s cat Kiki were squaring off on the driveway.

The last thing I need is for one of my cats to injure Danielle’s cat, especially after all the drama we went through, so I scooped Audrey up and brought her inside, where the growling did not abate. I was lucky I could catch her and hold her. Although she is feather light, she is strong and determined.

So, I’m thinking no more outside for Audrey, though it will undoubtedly be a battle of wills. I almost never win those when it comes to Audrey.

A YEAR AGO: Getting to know my new neighborhood.

FIVE YEARS AGO: How to manage working six days a week. I did that for a long time.

TEN YEARS AGO: Watching lots of girl movies while my sister recovered from knee surgery.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Remembering Nana on her birthday.

Sometimes you just want someone else to cook for you. And more importantly, clean up after both the cooking and the eating. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather cook three meals than clean up after one. This may have something to do with the fact that the only dishwasher I have ever had was Me.

When John and I were selling our apartment in San Francisco, the girl who ended up buying it complained bitterly that there was no dishwasher. I seem to remember she also complained that the height of the 1920s-era counters were not high enough to install one, either*.

When I was a kid, dishwashing also included drying and putting away, in addition to wiping off counters, putting away placemats and napkins, and wiping the table. Now, I tend to leave the dishes in the drainer, though I do all the other things, despite telling myself that when I grew up, I would do none of those things. My childhood self might also be appalled and annoyed to learn that I still make my bed before going to work and lay out my clothes the night before, since I also decided I would not do that when I was (allegedly) a grown up and could (allegedly) do whatever I wanted.

Little did child Suzy know…

But one thing the present day Suzy could do was go to Queenie’s for a breakfast made by, and fit for, a queen. Not to mention cleaned up by the queen’s courtiers. I sat outside on the wooden deck and enjoyed the view:

while breakfast was being made. It was worth the wait:

That’s freshly-squeezed orange juice, a waffle, real maple syrup (accept no substitutes!) and chicken-apple sausage from Roundman’s Smokehouse. It was so nice to have breakfast across the street from the ocean, sitting in the sunshine.

And no dishes to do afterwards.

*She solved this “problem” by making the kitchen into a second bedroom and part of the living/dining room into a boring stainless steel kitchen. Undoubtedly, there is a dishwasher in my old living room now.

A YEAR AGO: Vanquishing the mess from the move. Things look pretty much the same, though I did get a bigger area rug. I still love this house and can still hardly believe I live here.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Kalli’s birthday camping party. So fun!

TEN YEARS AGO: Marilyn’s house was up for sale.

When Megan and Rob first moved onto the family estate, I thought the space they had marked out for their backyard was huge. How could they need all that space? And it all had to be fenced, which is not an inexpensive undertaking, especially if you do It in a way to deter most deer and rabbits.

Fortunately, fencing, like the installation of the shade sails, is a one-time expense. And it’s worth it to keep some animals out and others in. For example, Megan and Rob recently had to go to the county seat, which takes most of a day, and they left their door open and the garden gate closed, so Star and Stella could hang out inside on the couch or outside on their special beds, sunning and shading to their hearts’ content in total safety. Much better than being stuck in the car all day, especially since it was over 100 that day in the county seat and probably about 80 at home.

Over time, they have added to the space, with plants like Erica’s beautiful rose:

And more recently, the shade sails, a necessity when you live on the Sunstroke Savanna.

Rob has made his mark on the place, with his beautiful artwork. I love the swallows:

And the tentacles of a creature apparently living below the earth:

Not to mention the gigantic lizard:

I remember Megan telling me that there was a lizard taking up most of her table earlier this year, and I can see why.

Rob also created a kinetic sculpture on the gate, because that’s how he rolls:

I said it was something like a weathervane, and Rob attempted to explain to me why it wasn’t, but my two brain cells were not up to the science-y challenge. They rarely are.

It’s been fun to watch the evolution of the place as it becomes more and more like home for Megan and Rob.

A YEAR AGO: I was pretty busy.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The graceful and athletic Roscoe. I will never stop missing him.

TEN YEARS AGO: A visit from Jessica. I will never stop missing her, either, though she is alive and well and thriving in Portland with her mother.

TEN YEARS AGO: Dog fights and car thieves. You know, the usual.

I often call the family estate The Sunstroke Savanna. There is basically no shade, and it’s hotter than that it was at my old house (a mere quarter mile away) or my new one (about 12 miles away, but still in Hooterville). As is the California way, it is also significantly colder there in the winter than it is or was at either of my houses. I would often go over there in the winter to find a hard frost or ice when there was none at my house.

Megan and Rob decided that they needed some shade at their place. They bought some shade sails to go in their capacious back yard:

Megan said that when she ordered the shade sails, he didn’t think about how she would hang them up. The answer was that Rob cemented in poles and strung the sails on wires. In fact, he was shopping for these supplies when his car broke down and he needed rescuing a couple of weeks ago. So everything is built Rob tough. Of course the sails will come down for the winter.

Megan is hoping to put in some plants that will twine around the poles and make them look prettier, especially when the sails are down. Plans are also afoot to put up fairy lights and add some movable curtains on the west side to shield us from the hottest rays of the sun on the hottest days.

There are already lounge chairs for humans, and more importantly, lounge beds for Star and Stella. Things are looking beautiful and everyone is enjoying the shade, from the dogs to the humans (and back again).

FIVE YEARS AGO: A surprise shower.

TEN YEARS AGO: Painting the old house.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some random wit.

I don’t really think of myself as a baker. I can’t remember the last time I made a cake. I don’t even have cake pans, which probably makes it unlikely that I will be doing so any time soon. I am no Erica! She can make anything. I always joke with her that Jessica is the logical conclusion to her ultra craftiness. “I’m going to make a human being! And she’s going to be awesome!” And she is.

I am good at making Montreal* style bagels, somewhat surprising since I do not have a wood-fired oven and have never lived in Montreal or have any Quebec background at all. Also because it is a lengthy process, and you know how patient I am not. I have streamlined the process as much as possible, having learned a few things along the way, like proper shaping technique. I am pleased to say that they almost never come apart during the boiling process. And there’s something meditative about rolling them in my hands while looking out of the kitchen window at the mighty redwoods and passing wildlife. Here is the most recent batch:

Recently, I tried my hand at lumpia Shanghai, a kind of Filipino egg roll. I was a little intimidated by the rolling technique, but it was easier than I thought. I did not deep fry them as the recipe said, just lightly fried them. They were not at all greasy, and the filling was a wonderful, savory combination of juicy ground pork and crunchy water chestnuts and celery:

I also skipped the suggested accompaniment of banana ketchup, which just sounds weird to me. I made a dipping sauce of sesame oil, soy sauce, rice vinegar, a few sesame seeds, and a dash of brown sugar and called it good. And it was.

Another new baking endeavor was cinnamon rolls, made from a friend’s father’s recipe. They turned out well, though the recipe was somewhat vague in places. It didn’t say what thickness the dough should be before rolling, or how much sugar and cinnamon to mix together for the filling (it just says, “A mixture of sugar and a generous amount of cinnamon”). It called for a mixture of Crisco and margarine, which horrified me, so I substituted butter. Despite all this, they were great:

It’s a little late in the year for resolutions, but it’s good to work on being a more confident baker. Who knows, maybe I’ll get around to making a cake before my next birthday!

*Lately I’ve been watching a TV show filmed in Montreal called “Bad Blood”, starring Kim Coates. I have loved him since he was a bad guy (he is pretty much always a bad guy) in the late ‘80s-early 90s “Street Legal”, a TV show I would like to revisit. “Bad Blood” is a fictional riff on a real Montreal mob empire, and very entertaining.

A YEAR AGO: The cats were enjoying their new home. I note that now Audrey is upstairs all the time and the boys are downstairs or on the bed. The dishes and litter box are upstairs now, too.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Remembering a long-ago trip to Paris.

TEN YEARS AGO: Road work and attempted laundry.

I have a new addition to the bedroom:

I love the color of the cushion – it’s more of a sage in real life than it appears in these photos – and the clean lines of the wrought iron legs and sides. It’s handy to sit on while putting on or taking off shoes, and I think it makes the room look more finished. Audrey noticed that it’s the same color of her eyes and is quite becoming to her:

My good friend A decided that it needed a sheep fur throw, which was sent to me all the way from Poland. It certainly has an air of 70s glam, like Burt Reynolds should be lying on it. Or Dodge should be sitting next to it:

The Medical Director at the clinic where I work is quite the Dodge fan. Sometimes he stops by my office to ask how Dodge is and to see the latest pictures of him being handsome. This morning, I discovered that Dodge has a new hobby: licking the water off the curtain after I shower. I have also seen him covering up after Clyde leaves the litter box, clearly thinking that Clyde did not do a sufficiently through job of hiding all traces. It’s especially comic, since Dodge is standing entirely outside of the litter box at the time. He is such a character.

Here he is with Clyde, loitering with intent and thinking up some trouble to get into:

They always find it, too.

TEN YEARS AGO: The water trenching project was not without complications.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I should have known better than to go in the house. Now I do.

It’s no secret to you, faithful readers, that our heroine tends to get up early, even when it’s unnecessary*. It’s supposed to be better for you to more or less stay on schedule all week instead of staying up late and sleeping in on the weekends. All I know is, it’s different to just wake up rather than get woken up by the alarm. And on the weekends, I make coffee and go back to bed with it, so it’s not like I’m getting up and staying up.

So I do leave the house pretty early in the morning. In the winter, it’s usually night time black when I head out of the lotus gates, but this time of year, it’s light out, with the birds singing loudly and brightly. I have noticed quite a few fawns lately, playing in and near the road under the nervous, yet watchful eye of their mothers, and calves staying close to their own mothers in the wildflower-strewn meadow. Sometimes a raven swoops across the road, or a Steller’s Jay flashes a brilliant blue wing in the dark woods.

In general, other than wildlife, this Ridge is less inhabited and less travelled than the old one. I almost never see another car on my way to work, and I rarely have to wait at the intersection of Ridge and highway:

for another car to pass by before continuing my way workward.

I was quite surprised one morning to come around one of the Ridge’s many curves to find a truck sitting there. Its lights and engine were on, and the truck bed was full of wood. I rolled down my passenger side window so I could ask the driver how s/he was doing once I pulled up alongside the truck.

Once I did so, I looked across and saw the driver was asleep, either temporarily or permanently. I parked my car and got out to investigate.

I knocked on the window and woke up the driver (or parker). He did not roll down his window, but I asked if he was OK anyway. He nodded. I was not convinced on this point, so I pressed a little further, asking, “Are you sure?” Again he nodded, so I gave up at that point and got back in the car. His eyes were already closed.

I felt bad leaving him there, and hoped he wouldn’t get hit by another car and that he could find his way home safely. Six o’clock in the morning seems like an early hour to be incapacitated. My sister thinks it might have been opiates rather than alcohol at that hour, since they tend to make people sleepy. Who knows? I just hope the rest of his journey was safe.

A YEAR AGO: The novelty of house keys and getting to know my new appliances.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Encounters with wildlife, one way and another.

TEN YEARS AGO: Audrey felt lonely and I felt guilty. Still do!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Heading to the hospital to visit Mom.

*Recently, Megan was going kayaking down the scenic Hooterville River. She had to get up early to do so because of the tides, and texted me:

I do find it amazing that she goes from 12 hour night shifts to daytime every week. Half the week she’s sleeping in the day and working in the night and then reverses it for the rest of the week. Like voluntary jet lag!

Then

Now

My little Clyde turned ten on June 8. According to a cat age calculator, that makes us about the same age in human years, with Clyde at 56 and me at 58. No matter how old he gets – and I am expecting a minimum of another ten years – he will always be my baby boy.

A lot has happened since I first met Clyde and his inimitable brother Roscoe a decade ago. Even at the age of six weeks, their personalities were clear. Roscoe was dignified, sitting quietly at my feet, and Clyde climbed into my arms, purring and asking me to take them both home. How could I say no?

My time with Roscoe was short, but he left indelible paw prints on my heart and five years after losing him, I still think of him every day. I believe Clyde saw what happened to his brother. For days afterwards, he looked out the window towards the woods, and was very quiet and shaken up, way more than he was when he defeated the Slobber Monster. He stopped wanting to go outside after Roscoe vanished, and again, this is not how he reacted to near death himself at the fangs of the Slobber Monster. Just like it’s worse to see a loved one suffer than to suffer yourself, perhaps it’s worse to see your beloved brother killed than to nearly be killed yourself.

Clyde is a sensitive boy at the best of times, and I think we were both strongly affected by Roscoe’s loss. When we moved last year, Clyde and I both hated the chaos, both at the old house and the new one. On Moving Day itself, he was so unnerved by the whole thing that when I left him out of his carrier, he tried to climb back in.

Fortunately, the Moving Mess has long been vanquished, and Clyde is used to his new home. He has a close and loving relationship with Dodge, the stray Siamese I adopted a couple of years ago, after he followed a colleague home from the car dealership in the Big Town. Dodge took one look at Clyde and fell in love with him, just like I did. And it didn’t take long for them to get close and stay that way:

They cuddle and play together, and give each other baths. It’s a joy to watch them.

Happy birthday, little guy! Here’s to the next ten years! I love you, sweet boy.

A YEAR AGO: The boys did the heavy lifting in getting me set up in my new, beautiful house. Still can’t believe I actually live there!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fabulous Junapalooza.

TEN YEARS AGO: A battle of wills with Audrey.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Fearing Mom’s impending death. We lost her a couple of months later.

My birthday dawned sunny and beautiful. It was nice to wake up to sunlight instead of darkness. Remarkably, dedicated food fan Clyde let me sleep in, his little gift to me. Of course there was the usual Cat Care™ after I got up, but there was also time to take coffee back to bed while I listened to the birds singing and watched the wind ruffling the trees outside my bedroom window. It was really nice to have an obligation-free day.

Dinner was BBQ from a local hostelry. It was supposed to have macaroni and cheese and slaw, but arrived with beans and what may have been some kind of slaw. It seemed mostly like salad with some cabbage in it. The ribs were good, though I actually prefer the ones I make, with a dry rub and tangy Carolina style sauce. I have been on a bit of a roll in the kitchen lately and I am sorry to say that I often like what I make more than what I can buy, a disappointment to my secretly lazy nature.

Still, it was nice to have dinner made by someone else, and the cats and I settled in on the couch to watch an excellent print of Sunset Boulevard with some sparkling wine at hand. For me, not the cats. I have seen it before, but it struck me on this viewing how it’s so much about forbidden love – Norma’s for Joe, Joe’s for Betty (and vice versa), even Max’s for Norma. We all enjoyed the movie in its glorious black and white.

The next day, I had a leisurely morning – not quite as glamorous as the late Princess Margaret’s usual morning ritual – and then went out to the Village, where I got a fabulous pizza for dinner and stopped by the farmers’ market. It’s still early in the season, but I got some Itachi cucumbers, blueberries, and a loaf of sourdough bread.

There were lots of presents this year, including a red begonia, a bouquet of wildflowers, chocolate, and a gift certificate to the local bookshop, which has already been spent. It was a happy birthday.

A YEAR AGO: Unpacking in the middle of the night. Never fun at any time.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Working at working.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I’m really sorry the photos have been lost on this post. The trauma cake was amazing and I’d love to see the photo of me with baby Jessica. Sigh.

I gave myself a lovely gift for my birthday: a couple of days off. Really two and half, since I left early on my birthday eve to spend some time with Angelika.

It was a flawless late spring day, the kind of day when even someone as grumpy and jaded as Audrey* feels glad to be alive. The sky was the deep blue that you only see in California, the ocean looked tropical, and the sides of the road were alive with multicolored wildflowers and fluttering butterflies. It was a beautiful drive to Angelika’s place. The sign outside her little salon sums up Angelika’s philosophy:

It was blissful indeed to sit in her chair and catch up on each other’s news. I didn’t have enough cut off when I had the color done in March, so I decided to cut three inches off. Daring! It is still about an inch below my collarbone, but it feels much thicker and healthier. Angelika cut some long layers into my hair for movement. Megan got the good Mom hair** and I got the less glorious Dad hair.

While Angelika worked, she had the door to her salon open. It’s a converted pump house, just the right size for one sink and one chair and two friends. Through the door, we could see birds taking baths and getting refreshing sips of water in the fountain:

When I left, Angelika gave me a beautiful card, a succulent in a pretty pot, and a tube of conditioner to keep my hair pretty. She is such a wonderful friend!

There is no cell reception at Angelika’s house, so when I got to where there was reception, I pulled over to check my texts. I was expecting some time sensitive info about a work thing (which I got and took care of), but also had a text from Megan saying that Rob’s car had broken down at one of the hardware and lumber stores in town.
I suggested that I pick him up, and she was thrilled, since it was the only day that week she didn’t have to go town herself. I was really happy to finally do something for them; they do so much for me.

Arriving at the store, I failed to find Rob. I texted and called him with no result. I texted Megan and she suggested he might be at the car parts store. I headed there, but partway there, Megan texted me to say he was in the lumber part of the first store. I started back to Point A, but had reckoned without the weekly farmers’ market, blocking off the street I needed. Fortunately, I know secret alleys and byways, so I took that way, noting this unexpected piece of art along the way:

This time, I was successful in finding Rob. He showed me the defective part, which looked like some kind of hose contraption to my untutored eye. He had arranged with the store to leave his car there overnight. We went to order a new part, and it was set to arrive by 8:00 the following morning. We had a nice drive home together. I was so glad I could help him out. It was a great beginning to my birthday celebrations.

*My friend Patrisha is Staff to Audrey’s mother, Quince, and describes her in her rich Scots accent as “a huffy miss”. Though mother and daughter may be far apart in miles, they are close in age and temperament.
**Despite her many cancer treatments, Mom never lost all her hair. She just got regular person hair. When she died of breast cancer at the age of 73, she still had very little grey in her hair.

A YEAR AGO: I got internet for my birthday! The best birthday present ever!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A bad birthday.

TEN YEARS AGO: A really bad birthday, losing my beautiful cat June on my birthday night. I still miss her. She was so beautiful.

The loss of The Beautiful Harriet put everything else out of my mini mind, and I forgot to tell you about my visit to the family property a couple of weeks ago, now known as the good old days when we still had Harriet.

It was still early-ish in the season, but lettuce:

herbs, and strawberries:

were ready already.

The trees were flaunting peachlets:

And pearlets:

The raspberries (in the foreground) were flourishing, though not yet berrying, and the cherry tree (in the background) in its majestic netting cathedral had a good crop of still-green cherries.

Inside the greenhouse, we scared a lizard, who fled into the tomato starts. I am pleased to announce that the Meyer lemon tree is doing quite well:

The flowers smell enchanting, and Megan says the fruit is delicious. I’m looking forward to trying one.

The lemon blossoms weren’t the only things that smelled good. The peppermint striped rose Erica gave us before her departure smells as incredible as it looks:

There is deer-defying lavender on the other side to discourage nibbling:

Looking around the garden with my sister reminded me of how Dad and I used to walk around his garden in Wimbledon before dinner, with a glass of wine in hand, admiring the plants and flowers and seeing what had changed from the day before. I had such a good time catching up with Megan and Rob that the time flew by, and before I knew it, I had been there for two hours. I also managed to get a sunburn. Silly me! It was worth it, though.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Audrey did not enjoy her trip to the vet, and I did not enjoy the bill. We never do.

The Beautiful Harriet, May 7, 2020

We lost The Beautiful Harriet just two days after Megan’s birthday.

Megan was working, and Rob saw Harriet make a strange movement and then seem to be partly paralyzed. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. He knew there was no hope of recovery, so he held her lovingly until she breathed her last, knowing that she was safe and loved.

Rob wisely waited until Megan got home from her long night shift, meeting her at the car and telling her the news as they walked back to their place together. Although Harriet was 19, her death was unexpected. I was shocked and saddened to hear the news. She hadn’t been sick or in decline, she was just old, about 92 in human years.

I went to the family estate after work that day. We all met at the chinquapin tree where Harriet’s sister Ramona and little Henry Etta are, along with Jed the Wonder Dog. Harriet is in good company in this pretty place:

She was still beautiful and her magic pelt was still magic, even in death. We petted her amazingly soft fur and told her we loved her. Rob had already prepared her resting place, quite deep but narrow enough that she would be safe and snug. Megan and I carefully rewrapped Harriet in a soft lavender towel, and then Megan lovingly settled Harriet in, tucking the towel in around our beloved girl.

We all took turns gently sifting the rich red earth over her, saying farewell and again telling her we loved her. Here is Rob finishing filling in the resting spot:

We covered it with leaves and it looks tranquil and serene:

Harriet had a long and happy life. She and Ramona lived with Megan and Rob from the time they were kittens, and were always loved and cared for. I am glad she had a peaceful end, at home, being held by someone who had loved her all her life, and that we were able to lay her to rest with our own hands with love.
Sleep easy, beautiful Harriet. You are loved and missed and will always be in our hearts.

A YEAR AGO: The great move to my current beautiful abode.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fantastic birthday party for Megan, including the best practical joke ever.

TEN YEARS AGO: There’s nothing more fun than some quality girl time.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some quality time with the wonderful, beautiful Rita.

It’s that magical time of year when the long, slow curve in Little River is a haze of green as the trees on each side flaunt their new leaves. Spring leaves have a brilliance that is lost by summer, and these trees also lose their leaves in winter, so it’s a delight to watch them bud and then burst forth in all their verdant glory as the year progresses. There are banks of calla lilies unfurling their white blooms under the trees in the spring, like out of season snow.

These days, it’s light enough in the mornings for me to see the leaves on my way to work, which is a small pleasure in and of itself. Mornings are glorious this time of year, in sunlight:

and in fog:

It’s also rhododendron time, when the woods are frilled with pink:

Arriving home last week, i noticed that there are wild irises scattered among the ferns beside my house:

There is beauty everywhere this time of year.

A YEAR AGO: I found the beautiful house where I now live. I still can’t believe I live in this lovely place.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Dogs and cats. Cats and dogs. Past and present. Present and past.

TEN YEARS AGO: The mystery of the window boxes in the night.

I tend to do my cooking for the week on Saturday, making dishes I can heat up after work during the week. About the last thing I want to do after driving, working, and arriving home to take care of cats and removing faux adult armor so painstakingly applied that morning is slicing and dicing. I have a limited supply of patience and niceness, and it’s running on empty by the end of the work day. Basically, I just want to heat something up, watch a little TV, and go to bed and read.

Sometimes I do special projects on the weekends, like making Montreal-style bagels. I have actually gotten pretty good at making these, though they are a time consuming and messy process. I live 3,000 miles from the nearest commercially available Montreal bagels, so if I want them (and I do), I have to make them myself.

Recently, I tried my hand at strawberry granola, from a recipe in the New York Times. It came out perfect the first time, and I wouldn’t change a thing:

While I was combining the dried strawberries with the cooled granola mixture, I noticed several deer wandering down the driveway, outside the kitchen window. They were completely unafraid, nibbling here and there. They had a couple of young ones with them, at the stage where they were shedding their spots. the biggest deer peeked in the window at me, and for a moment, my little green eyes met his huge, liquid brown ones. Then he and his family headed off into the woods. A little moment of magic.

Another success was a first-time attempt at making Carolina-style ribs. I like the tangy style of barbecue sauce rather than the thick, sweet, sticky one. I made a rub and applied it the night before, letting it marinate overnight, and then baking the ribs for a few hours the next night. They turned out great, and I will not change a thing the next time I make them, and there will be a next time. It’s fun to try new recipes along with the tried and true.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Farewell to Marco, the gentle giant. We still miss you, sweet boy.

TEN YEARS AGO: Well, this is still true. Between a writing project and writing social media posts fro work, my blog has been neglected lately. Seems two posts a week is about all I can do these days.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Again, all these things are still true. A girl can dream…

During the week, I get up in the early morning darkness. Most days, I wake up before the alarm goes off, and I am almost invariably disappointed that it’s already time to get up. Sometimes I lie there for a few minutes, wondering why it’s always time to get up, but mostly I just get up, turn off the alarm, put away my sleep mask and earplugs, and get on with it.

The first order of business is always cat care, and I have the invaluable Clyde to remind me of this very important fact. Even though my record of giving the cats food and water twice a day is unblemished, Clyde, like his Staff, tends to fear the worst and feels that it doesn’t hurt for me to get a reminder. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to understand that his getting under my feet and yowling makes it take longer to achieve the desired result. All this before coffee, my friends.

I’m usually out of the house within an hour of getting up, and that includes the application of faux adult armor, including make-up and hair styling.

On the weekends, it’s a different story, though.

I wake up when it’s light out. Cat care still comes first, but then I make coffee, bring it back upstairs, and get back into bed. On Saturdays, I read Savage Love and on Sundays I read PostSecret before attending to my fan mail. These are long-standing traditions.

It’s nice to sit in bed and enjoy the serene views from the windows and the sounds of silence:

I can (and do) spend hours in bed, reading book reviews and recipes, writing, and hanging out with the cats, who are clearly glad that I’m home for a change just encourage this kind of slothitude. People who think cats are aloof and distant have never met my cats.

Audrey generally curls up right next me, somewhat surprising for a cat of her general grumpitude. She even purrs, though she also growls when Dodge is anywhere near. Despite that, there is sometimes a temporary truce, though only when the bed is messy:

Usually, the boys are curled up together, with Audrey growling softly beside me just to remind them that she can barely tolerate their existence.

Eventually, I get up and do some cooking for the week – I like to make things I can heat up after work – but I really enjoy my weekend ritual.

A YEAR AGO: An amazing outing with the girls, learning about female lighthouse keepers – at a lighthouse.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful celebration of Jessica’s birthday, with zebras, giraffes, surfers, and patisserie. What more could a girl want?

TEN YEARS AGO: I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we rescued Star! I’m pretty sure she knew that day that she was home. She was a mama’s girl from Day One! Some things never change.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: An emotional recipe. And a charmimg memory.

I’m not tracking them the way I did a few years ago, but lately, I have been trying to notice the perfect moments in each day.

When I lived in San Francisco, I never stopped noticing its beauty, and I am the same way here. Every day when I reach the ocean, or as I think of it, the intersection between home and work*:

I am delighted by its beauty. The ocean is ever-changing, and is as beautiful to me when it’s wild and stormy as when it’s blue and serene. It’s just a different kind of beautiful.

I love seeing a wide swath of silver when my friend the moon beams over the dark sea. Even though the moon and I go way back, she has been surprising me with her versatile beauty these days.

One morning – most of the year, it’s dark as night when I get up at 5 am – I was charmed by the sight of silvery moonbeams falling through the slats on my window blinds onto the bed, like I was the heroine of a film noir. Later that week, when I got to the ocean, I wondered what the blaze of orange was in the sky. It turned out to be the copper moon, coming in and out of misty slate blue clouds and making it really hard for me to focus on the road. I kept sneaking peeks to my left as I drove to work that morning.

There is something about driving across the Big River bridge:

that always fills me with a certain bien-être. Maybe it’s something about the ocean meeting the river there, or the curve of the bridge, but I usually find myself relaxing into the beauty when I cross it. On my way home from work one day, I was struck by the perfect sight of ravens, gracefully and slowly surfing the thermals together, hovering above the bridge with the afternoon sun glistening from their iridescent wings.

I am lucky to live somewhere so beautiful.

*On my way home, I always feel I have successfully left the world behind when I turn onto the Ridge from the highway.

A YEAR AGO: A creepy visitor.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Learning about Hooterville’s storied past.

TEN YEARS AGO: An adventure with my sister and the late, great Schatzi. We will never stop missing her.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some random notes.

Despite the horror of the lamb* and the milder ick of the cauliflower soup, I had not totally given up on the lure of the Michelin starred food right here in Nowhere. After the shocking unappetizingness of the last meal, I gently suggested that they might want to post the menu before taking orders for the meal. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one, since they did just that and it sounded pretty good:

This time, the dessert cost extra. It was “Japanese cheesecake”, and since I do not like cheesecake and Asian desserts tend to be on the overly sweet and weird side for me, I passed on that in favor of a loaf of their excellent sourdough bread instead.

Instead of going home that Friday, I kept going down to the South Coast. It was a beautiful day for a drive:

As I paused to take some photos, I saw a whale flip his tail out of the water and another spouting as he made his majestic way through the blue waters of the Pacific. Arriving at the restaurant, I was handed a plain brown paper bag, and I retraced my steps back home, where I unpacked it:

Apparently, the foragers were not successful, since there was slaw instead of foraged salad. I called the restaurant to ask how to assemble it. It turned out there was orange-ginger slaw on the side, and the rest of it (toasted sesame and hemp seeds; fresh cilantro and basil; and preserved lime) all got mixed together with the pork and rice noodles.

The soup was pretty heavy, though velvety, and rather dull. Same goes for the slaw. The noodles were ordinaire other than the preserved lime, a new ingredient to me which was delightful and which I would like to try making at home. Secretly (or perhaps not so secretly, since I just told you), I prefer the pork noodles I make, which seems astonishingly conceited, especially for someone who will never have a Michelin star or even half of one. At least it was only $18 per person instead of $180. Maybe it doesn’t translate well to take out or perhaps I can’t appreciate the subtlety of haute cuisine. At least I tried.

*Am amazed that they haven’t come up with a euphemism for it, like “beef” for “cow” and “veal” for “tortured baby cow”. They aren’t even pretending it’s something else.

A YEAR AGO: An unexpected, and unexpectedly moving funeral.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My past selves. I wish I had appreciated being young and cute when I was young and cute.

TEN YEARS AGO: The peaceful death of my beloved Henry Etta, the little stray cat who found a permanent place in my heart. I still miss that scrappy little thing.