Suzy Says

‘Memba the cheerful orange engine light that appeared on Wednesday’s console, striking terror into my heart and bank account? My brother reset it, and I drove around engine light free for a couple of weeks, but it reared its alarming head again before I had even left the County on my way to Monterey (that’ll learn me for having the nerve to venture so far afield). I knew it wasn’t anything urgent, but it’s still concerning to keep seeing that engine light. Especially when you thought it had gone away for good.

When I got home – unscathed, thanks for asking – he took another look, groveling around in the cee-ment pit he and Rob built for this exact purpose when they put up the carport:

It’s a huge improvement over groveling around in a muddy ditch with the car perched overhead. And there’s even room for a washer, dryer, and body-sized freezer, all solar powered, since my brother lives entirely off the grid.

My unpaid mechanic’s considered opinion was that the car needed a new thermostat. The engine has not been getting hot enough, which is better than it getting too hot, but is still not good over the long run. He called the parts store, and they needed Wednesday’s VIN to decide which part was needed. I texted the VIN to my brother, but they still couldn’t tell. The possibilities were Part A, at $160, and Part B, at $40. My brother suggested that we buy both and then take back the one we didn’t need, but the parts store owner said that Ford only buys parts back every three months from them, so it might be a while before we could get the money back. He then volunteered to call Ford himself to find out which was the winning part. I would have lost the bet, because it was the $40 part. Yay!

I dropped Wednesday off on Wednesday evening on my way home (how appropriate is that?) and my brother operated on Thursday while I drove The Beater to work, enjoying its Waltony rattles and hums. Hopefully the surgery will be successful AND the patient will survive.

Speaking of surviving: I’m lucky I survived the drive home the other night. I noticed headlights coming toward me – in my lane of the two lane highway. He was rocketing toward me, clearly trying to pass the RV and car ahead of him. In my opinion, there was not enough space between the RV and car for Mr. Maniac to slot in, so maybe his crazed plan was to pass both of them. I pulled over to the shoulder just in time as he jammed past me, making Wednesday and me rock like we were in an earthquake. I was thankful that the shoulder was there – many, many miles of Highway One do not have one – and that I got out of Mr. Maniac’s way in time. It was time for a glass of wine – or two – when I got home. At least I got there in one piece!

A YEAR AGO: All Suzy, all the time.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. My sister texted me that she was teaching a CPR class that day, but was not looking forward to the long drive to town. Even though I was still slowly caffeinating in my PJs, I decided to join her and keep her company.

I tossed some chicken in the slow cooker and threw on some clothes. Even while I was dressing sketchily and leaving the house with no makeup on, I reflected that I would almost certainly run into someone I knew, which proved to be the case.

Megan’s car was preloaded with the dummies and equipment which I had picked up from our friends Lu and Rik on my way home from work the night before, so we jumped in and set off. As you know, I would always rather be driven than drive, and it was nice to be able to admire the ocean and the wild flowers by the side of the road.

Leaving Megan to her class, I took her car to the Company Store, which used to be exactly that: the store where loggers and millworkers bought the necessities of life from their employers:

The outside hasn’t changed much, but on the inside, there is free and fast internet to delight the heart of an impatient girl doomed to the slow yet exorbitant horrors of satellite internet at home. In fact, I was so delighted that I failed to notice my brother’s girlfriend Rio until she came over and hugged me. She was accompanied by her daughter, who is getting married here in May. The two ladies had appointments to taste cake, consider flower arrangements and other pleasant wedding-related duties that day. It was nice to see them, and Rio’s daughter will make a beautiful bride.

Next stop was the library, where I both picked up and dropped off books for everyone and paid their fines, because that’s the kind of sister I am. 🙂 Next to me, a little girl was checking out a stack of books, and it reminded me of the long-ago summer Saturdays when we would go to the beautiful library in Bar Harbor:

As lab kids and constant summer residents, we were allowed to take out extra books, which was a privilege we always enjoyed. I overheard the same little girl say to her mother, “Of course you can’t see her. She’s in my head,” with a look on her face that clearly said, “Silly grownups”. As Antoine de St Exupéry observed, grownups always need to have things explained. And they usually think an elephant eaten by a boa constrictor is a hat.

After that, it was the feed store for the cats and then the feed store for the humans, where I naturally ran into some people from work. Fortunately they were also makeup free and dressed with extreme casualness.

I met Megan at her class, where she had been annoyed by Scenario Guy (“What if someone has a seizure in the middle of the road? Do you treat them or go get help?” along with dozens of other what ifs) and Know It All Guy, trying to share his wisdom with the class. At least it was over. We returned the dummies and returned home, where we made chicken enchiladas for dinner from black beans grown on the property and salsa verde made with ingredients also grown there, and the chicken I had thrown in the Crock Pot that morning.

We baked the enchiladas in Megan’s new to her stove:

which had been a family affair. Megan’s old stove was pretty dysfunctional, with only one working burner, so when I saw a free stove advertised on the local message boards, I immediately notified the family, who swung into action. Rob borrowed Mark’s truck, and he and Jonathan went to inspect the stove, which looked fine to them. They brought it home and installed it, and I am pleased to report that all the burners and the oven work! Less crappy, my friends.

A YEAR AGO: Some time off before starting my new job. I’ve been there a year today!

When my father died, I inherited a 250 year old grandfather clock which has been in our family since it was first made by John Jullion of Brentford. Fun fact: the oldest clock still on public display in Australia was made by the same gentleman in 1770. Rob unpacked our clock after I moved to Hooterville, but it was decorative rather than functional.

At Christmas, Jonathan said that he wanted to get the grandfather clock running again this year. I’m not sure if that counts as a New Year’s resolution, but he (and Rob) can check it off their lists.

Rob shimmed it so it was as straight and true as possible given the irregularity of my house in general and the floor in particular. When the clock was stored, the (very) heavy lead weights, pendulum, winding key, etc. were all carefully stowed inside, so the guys had all they needed to get the old man alive and ticking.

They lifted off the top and got to work:

It was nice to watch these two, brothers-in-law for 25 years and friends for more than 40, working together. And soon the clock was ticking the seconds away majestically. They did not install the bell, though. My house is really small and the bell is really loud. When I lived in San Francisco and the clock lived in the hallway and I had a bedroom door to close, it would still wake me up sometimes, so I think I’ll settle for the ticking for now. It’s nice to hear it, reminding me of how it used to make the same sound in my grandparents’ dining room and my parents’ living room.

Before that, the clock lived above my great-grandfather Sydney Smith’s butcher shop in Chiswick. Here he is with my great-grandmother, the redoubtable Elizabeth Harriet*, outside the shop:

The name was still over the door when I visited it in the Silver Jubilee year of 1977, though it was no longer a butcher shop. Some of the lovely tilework from the interior:

also remained then, though I’m guessing it’s all gone by now. The clock has outlived them all! And it’s gone from a very urban setting to a very rural one. I wonder what other changes it has seen in its long life – and what changes are to come?

*Sydney was a charmer and adopted a laissez-faire attitude towards bill payment by friends and neighbors, so it was up to Elizabeth Harriet to make sure the receivables were received. And she did.

A YEAR AGO: A play from London and a burrito from the Valley.

Dad in Kings Canyon, 1980s

This may be the first year I did not write a post about Dad on his birthday.

I had a hard time with his birthday this year, probably because of losing my Roscoe so recently. I am still struggling with Roscoe’s loss on a daily basis, so I guess thinking of someone else I loved greatly and lost suddenly didn’t help with keeping the flood of sadness at bay.

It would have been Dad’s 85th birthday, a milestone one. I’m not sure if that played into it too. But somehow, I got through the day at work, surrounded by the usual St. Patrick’s Day crap the day always brings, me with my heart aching and everyone else all cheerful. Good thing I’m good at faking it at work.

Thanks to Jonathan’s girlfriend Rio, we had dinner together the day after Dad’s birthday to honor him. When Jonathan checked out my car before I headed to Monterey, I said, “Let’s have dinner soon.” He agreed, and Rio pulled out her calendar, saying “Let’s pick a date, or it will never happen.” So we looked, saw the day after Dad’s birthday was a Friday, and a date was born.

When I came home from work that evening, Lupe and Luna came running up to greet me as usual, and Rio’s car was in the driveway. Inside, I found Rio and Jonathan already cooking in my kitchen(ette), a welcome sight indeed. They had brought everything needed to make Moroccan chicken, a recipe of Rio’s late mother (I’m sorry to say she is now a member of our sad No Parents Club). My brother’s giant cast iron pan was heating on my tiny stove, and he was browning chicken while Rio chopped kumquats.

I put my hair up, opened a bottle of wine, and got out my grandmother Nana’s wineglasses so we could toast Dad and Rio’s lovely mother Gloria. I set to work cutting up apples in the style of that same grandmother (carving pieces off until arriving at the core) to be made into crumble for dessert. I washed dishes while Jonathan made the crumble part, in which the secret ingredient is cardamon. He also puts in a pinch of cloves.

As Jonathan observed, having such a small space to cook in keeps you honest, since you have to clean up to make room to work in. Washing the dishes reminded me of doing the dishes with my much-loved grandfather Hoho* (husband of Nana). He had arthritic hands, and washing the dishes felt good to him. I used to dry, and he’d tell me stories:

These were special moments which I will always treasure.

Rob was already there, working hard at a new shelving extravaganza, and Megan came by after her 14 hour shift with coffee in hand. She has a magical ability to switch from coffee to wine in the afternoon which I admire but couldn’t emulate.

Rio asked to see some family photos. She especially liked this one of Jonathan and Megan in Maine. I’m guessing Jonathan was about 10, which would make Megan 4:

We got so far down memory lane that I almost (but not quite) forgot the crumble, pulling it out of my Easy Bake sized oven just in time. The Moroccan chicken was quite magnificent:

If I made it again, I’d use apricots instead of prunes, and maybe toss in a handful of toasted almonds for crunch, but it was delicious, and we were glad to remember Rio’s Mom along with our Dad. It made me happy to have my house full of the people I love most, all sharing food we cooked together:

It was a wonderful evening.

*So called because of his booming, distinctive laugh. You can read more about him here. He was really something.

A YEAR AGO: Wine and wild turkeys.

My culinary errands were not 100% successful. I found myself unable to face the line at Swan’s. Even at 10:30 am, the line was a block long and my patience wasn’t. I also struck out at Bob’s Doughnuts, where they were sold out of old fashioneds, so I settled for two cinnamon cake doughnuts. Of course Victor’s never lets me down, and I bought a surprise pizza for Megan and Rob to thank them for their cat sitting while I was away.

It was a bright, sunny day as I left the city, the Bridge gleaming International Orange in the sun, the white sails of boats dotting the blue Bay and the pastel houses tumbling down the hills. The hills closer to home were the deep green of winter, but starred with California poppies, daffodils, and calla lilies. The vineyards slept, but around them trees were hazed with green leaves and clouds of pink and white blossoms. Weeping willows dipped their long fronds into rivers that are rivers again instead of trickles.

Through the tall, dark, and handsome redwoods and out to the ocean, which was showing off for me. For the first time in three years, I missed my brother’s Polar Plunge, where he jumps in the freezing water to benefit Special Olympics, usually after singing a song while in costume. This year, it was “Under the Sea” from “The Little Mermaid”, and Megan was there to cheer him on and send me this photo of our merman after the jump:

I am so proud of him!

Arriving home, I was greeted by Luna and Lupe, wagging their tails and jumping for joy as I petted them, and Megan, who happened to arrive home at the same time. Megan was much more helpful at unloading the car than the dogs were. Pets, I have noticed, never feel that they need to lend a paw with the housework.

Megan’s delight at the unexpected pizza delighted me. And it was nice to have unloading help. As we worked, we caught up on what had happened during my short absence.

Clyde came running to me, meowing his distinctive ClydeSound(TM), and I picked him up and cuddled him while he purred and pressed his head against me. Audrey, of course, does not permit such indignities as Being Picked Up, and she kept swatting me every time I passed her. I’m not sure if she was asking for attention or letting me know how annoyed she was at my absence, but hey – it’s Audrey. She also chased Lupe and Luna away with her tail all puffed up and giant.

My house seems amazingly quiet after Monterey and San Francisco, with their traffic and sirens and people yelling and honking. All I can hear are frogs peeping and cats purring. I’m really glad that I listened to Megan’s advice and came home on Saturday, so I have all of Sunday to relax and get ready to jump back on the hamster wheel on Monday.

You guys! I actually left the County after a year and a half. Alert the media!

I’m coming to you from Monterey, where it’s warm enough to have the door of my motel room open at 7:30 pm as I await the delivery of Chinese food.

While I love food delivery as much as – well, probably more than – the next girl, and suffer from slothitude in about the same way, in my defense, I left the house at 10:00 am and got here at 4:30.

Granted, it’s 260 miles, including a long stretch of winding, narrow country roads, and I stopped for lunch in San Francisco, but still. Traffic was pretty bad in some parts, especially for a for a girl whose idea of “traffic” is waiting for two trucks to turn onto the highway or being stuck behind tourists driving 15 miles below the speed limit. I amused myself by watching people desperately switching between the two available lanes on this highway, as if this would make any difference whatsoever. Glacially paced traffic is glacially paced traffic, my friend, especially when it stretches as far as the eye can see. It was that mystery traffic, too, where there’s no accident and no particular reason for the slowness, or for it picking up the pace again.

It was a little daunting to see the arrival time on the GPS keeping getting later and later, and I mentally revised my plan of doing some shopping on arrival to having an adult beverage and calling for delivery food after unpacking.

At least I know everything is fine back home. Rob came by before I left this morning, so I could give him last minute instructions and he could tell me about his latest woodworking endeavor which he will be working on in my absence, ingeniously combining cat sitting and home improvement.

The shelves he recently built for me were such a success:

that he is going to build more for me. Maybe with a cabinet underneath with sliding doors. We’ll see! I am looking forward to it.

It was also good that he came by when he did, because Clyde had thrown up on the quilt, so I had to wash it. I did not want to leave it wet, or leave it in the propane dryer with its scary open flame, so it was good knowing Rob was there to keep an eye on it. Also to pet the kitties. Clyde has never been without both Roscoe and me at the same time, and Audrey is not exactly cuddly, so I know he will need pets and fussing from Rob. Even Audrey likes it when Rob pets her, so I imagine they will all keep each other company.

Dinner’s ready, and tomorrow is another day. I am planning to visit the famous Aquarium. I believe I can walk my traffic free way there. Stay tuned…

A YEAR AGO: I seem to be living my very own Groundhog Day. A year ago Rob was working on my house, and I was battling Audrey’s fleas a year ago, just like I am now. Hmmm…

One day last week, I picked Rob up from Lu and Rik’s house on my way home from work. Lu and Rik just got engaged after 17 years together, and the wedding is planned for July 2, so there was a lot to talk about before Rob and I loaded ourselves and the dogs into the car.

I waste no opportunity to be chauffeured, so Rob took the wheel. Megan said later how gangsta my black car with its deeply tinted windows looked with Stella the pitbull stereotype in it. The fact that Rob and I are about the whitest people on the planet undoubtedly spoiled the effect.

As we drove along listening to the late, great David Bowie and chatting about this and that (I will never cease to be entertained by the way Rob thinks), Stella slowly but surely oozed her 65 pound self onto my lap. She did this by first peeking her giant head between the seats as if she was just admiring the view* through the windshield, then putting one paw on my leg, then another paw. To be fair, her back legs remained on the back seat with Star, who was curled up neatly, so she wasn’t totally in the front seat.

I had such a great time with Rob and the dogs that I wish I could do this more often. It was the high point of the week.

Later in the week, I picked up Michael, the older gentleman who I am happy to chauffeur whenever I see him and he needs a ride. He usually rides his bike, but he had made a trek to the Big Town that day, which meant walking three miles to the Gro to get the one bus that goes there each day and then getting home from the Gro when the bus dropped him off.

I couldn’t find a place to stop and pick him up when I first saw him, so I drove until I could turn around and go back to where he was. Maneuvering Wednesday’s short turn radius meant that I took up most of both lanes of the Ridge, inconveniencing some neighbors so I could help another. They all took it well, though.

Michael is adjusting to his new-ish place. As he observed, everything has its positives and negatives and it’s more positive not to focus on the negative. I set him down at his little cottage and we parted with a hug and a smile.

When I got home, I found Rob hard at work in the vintage trailer where Rose used to store her pottery equipment. I store non-pottery related things and stuff in there that are damp resistant, and Rob uses it as a workshop from time to time, like he did when working on the bathroom door.

This time, he is working on a beautiful shelving unit to house some still boxed up books in the studio:

Being Rob, there is a cornice on top, the edges of the shelves are beveled, and there are little feet, so it’s more like furniture than just a bookshelf. He even cut out little wood circles to fill in the screw holes so they wouldn’t show. It’s going to look great.

*To be fair, Stella does like to admire the view. She often sits and watches the ocean or observes birds for a long time. I have never known another dog to do this.

A YEAR AGO: Farewell to my friends at the jobette. ~Sob~

I met Megan and Rob after work one evening. They were accompanied by the ever-adorable Star and Stella. In fact, Stella was walking Megan as I came out of the door. Stella was quite interested in going in and seeing what my workplace was all about, but we eventually persuaded her that nothing fun ever happens there.

We stopped at the library for the near-weekly book exchange, and I noticed that it was not pitch dark at 5:30 pm anymore. 5:30 am could learn a lot from 5:30 pm.

In keeping with her former taxi and current parking locating abilities, Megan found a spot just a few steps from Town Hall, where this year’s crop of students were showing their mid-year designs at the Fine Woodworking Show.

We met up with Dave and Jennifer and a maddening crowd. I had never seen the show so crowded. Part of the problem was that it was the opening night reception, and the tables of food were set right inside the doors, creating a traffic flow problem worthy of LA at rush hour.

It was worth fighting through the throngs to see the wonderful art within and talk to the artists. This chair was not only gorgeous, but comfortable:

The artist said that anyone who sits in it, whatever their height and size, says that it’s comfortable. The color of the upholstery was inspired by the sails of the ship which carried her grandfather from China to California many years ago.

This piece looked like a plain box, until it opened to reveal the asymmetric wonder within:

I really enjoyed being with Rob, who knows so much about woodworking and who notices things that no one else does.

We all went out dinner after the show, with the rain sluicing down the windows like a waterfall as we enjoyed our burritos and shouted over the loud music. The food and the company were great, though.

When I got home, I stayed up late reading and was rewarded by a storm-induced power outage. The next morning, I had my phone in my hand to call PG&E for an update on the outage when the power came back on. I rushed around washing dishes and doing laundry while the power shone and the frogs cheerily sang about the rain.

A YEAR AGO: A trip down Memory Lane. One of my favorite places.

I couldn’t wait for Megan to open her Christmas stocking. I was sure I had included the perfect present*: a gift certificate for getting her hair highlighted with the ever-wonderful Angelika. Her reaction, however, was not what I expected: she burst into peals of helpless laughter.

Me: ???

Megan: (Gasping) Open your stocking.

Inside my stocking was…a gift certificate for highlights with Angelika! With the added bonus of being drawn by Jessica.

We were both laughing. I love it that Angelika kept the secret and that we both gave each other what we really wanted.

I left work early one Friday to cash in my present – getting highlights takes about three hours – and as Angelika was washing the color off my hair, I heard a familiar voice.

Me: Richard? Is that you?

Him: Susan? Is that you?

We were both laughing. We had been on our date at the bar just the night before! Richard was getting his hair cut before his business trip and admired my shiny new highlights. Giggling, yet glamorous, I made my way through the rain to Monica’s new store. We were having fun chatting and I was trying to persuade myself that I did not need that fabulous orange handbag when Angelika came through the door! It was her first visit to Monica’s new shop, and she just loved the playful, yet peaceful atmosphere and the word of cuteness.

I had enjoyed my little staycation last month so much that I indulged in a rerun, staying at the little inn on the estuary, where I lounged in the bathtub watching the birds and feeling beautiful. It was the perfect end to a glamorous day.

A YEAR AGO: I got the hell job. Without even suspecting its hellishness. I would soon learn…

*Technically, we just give each other stockings, but there are occasional exceptions made.

I just wouldn’t be Me if there wasn’t something wrong with my car.

I was driving to work one morning, listening to Bobbie Gentry* and being blinded by oncoming traffic as usual when I noticed the bright orange engine light blink to life on the console. This did not console me. I still think that they should be little dollar signs instead of engines, maybe Michelin style with $ indicating a routine repair and $$$$ indicating one you have to mortgage your house for, or possibly your soul, assuming you have one.

I texted my brother Jonathan and asked him if I could stop by his place on my way home from work to avail myself of his unpaid mechanic services, and he said yes. He recently put up the car port that used to house my beautiful old Mustang Josephine:

and when he did, he poured a concrete foundation which included a mechanic’s pit so he can work on the family cars in relative comfort. He used to lie in a ditch to do this, so it’s a big step up. The car port also houses a solar powered washer and dryer along with a body-sized freezer. Just in case.

Jonathan read the code and then looked it up while I petted his mini cat Scout. She is about 2/3 the size of a regulation cat, but her purr is twice as loud as most cats’ and her fur is twice as soft.

The code means that the engine is not getting hot enough. Apparently this is not as bad as having your engine do the opposite, but it will have to be addressed. Jonathan checked the coolant level and the hoses and it seems they are not the cause of the excess coolness. I was once again chastised for not keeping a better eye on the gauges “They aren’t there just to be pretty, Suz”) and got into further trouble when it was revealed that I had failed to procure a Chilton repair manual.

In my defense, I thought I had, but when I went to look for it, it turned out that what I thought was the manual for the current car was the one for its predecessor** and of no use at all. I ordered a new one, which should be here soon, and the considered opinion of my unpaid mechanic is that all it will probably cost to make the engine light go out (for now, anyway – I’m sure it will rear its ugly head agin sometime in the future) is a $30 thermostat for the car and a batch of my world-famous cheese biscuits for the mechanic.

*She was gorgeous and the poignant song I was listening to, “Ode to Billie Joe”, knocked the Beatles out of first place on the charts in 1967. You know your life isn’t going well when you’re listening to a lot of country music. Some of my favorite lines recently are: “Tearstains on my pillow/bottles in the trash/I’m a little bit long on sorrow and a little bit short on cash.”

A YEAR AGO: Visiting the ever-fabulous Erica and Jessica.

We are solidly in the part of the year where no cold water is required in the unheated shower. Just turn the hot water as far as it goes and hope for the best! Sometimes the floor is so cold that it feels wet to my bare feet, though it’s perfectly dry. Well, more or less. I usually remove a mushroom or two from the corners when I clean the bathroom. Doesn’t everyone?

But I shouldn’t complain compared to my sister, who took a week off to ferry Rob to various medical appointments. They drove to San Francisco and back in one day – around eight hours of driving and not a feat I would ever willingly attempt – to consult with a neurosurgeon about Rob’s ever crumbling spine and the side effects of its decline. Rob has had two surgeries to shore it up over the past few years. One was on an emergency basis – you know you’re in bad shape when they operate on you on Super Bowl Sunday – and the other wasn’t, but you can’t keep cutting a guy open and shoving his esophagus aside to root around in there indefinitely.

This was the surgeon’s verdict, though he added that if Rob found himself in an emergency situation, as he did the first time, surgery could be done. But it’s a last resort. He recommended, as the last surgeon did, that Rob quit smoking, which will be a challenge for someone who would smoke in his sleep if he could.

Later that week, they consulted a pain specialist in the county seat (a mere three hours of driving) and he had several ideas, including medication and possibly steroid injections, and Megan is confident that they will come up with a plan which will help. She speaks fluent Medical, but I can’t understand half of it, but it’s good to know that Rob isn’t facing immediate surgery and that there are options out there to help him deal with his pain. He’s so stoic. I would love it if he could at least be more comfortable.

A YEAR AGO: The many joys of Erica and Jessica, including Jessica’s plan for world domination. Don’t worry: she’ll be a benevolent ruler. And the world will be a sparklier place.

Good morning! It’s a rainy one, and I’m trying to ignore the wind chimes. Yellow Dog just walked by, on his endless quest for his old friend and playmate, Schatzi. I know how he feels. Part of me is still convinced I might, just might, find my Roscoe waiting for me when I get home from work, even though most of me knows it will never happen. My heart is slow in catching up with my head.

I arrived at work on Monday to find that an admirer had left me a beautiful orchid (“to celebrate your beautiful heart and spirit”) and that Monica had left me a beautiful Christmas present, which was revealed to be two exquisite wine glasses with a peacock feather pattern and a handmade rosemary scented soap:

I was delighted and told her that she made my day. Monica replied that each day has a “perfect moment” and we should share them with each other, so we have been doing that ever since. Here are a couple of mine from this week:

My perfect moment today was an iridescent, emerald green hummingbird resting in a stray ray of golden afternoon sunshine. Just for a moment.

Crossing the Hooterville Bridge, the last wooden bridge left on historic Highway One, with an empty road ahead of me ending in a glimpe of pink sunset peeking between the clouds, with a skein of black birds wheeling overhead.

As I drove down the muddy driveway, I noticed the thinnest crescent of moon glowing in the sky with Venus glittering nearby. The sky was the unearthly enameled blue of Italian Renaissance paintings.

Yesterday it was the incredible Technicolor sky as I arrived at work:

On my way home from work on Friday, I stopped in to say hello to my brother, in keeping with my New Year’s resolution. He was making soup and his mini cat Scout was curled up napping, though she deigned to be petted. She’s about 2/3 of regulation cat size and is super soft.

It was nice to catch up with Jonathan. He is plotting to get the grandfather clock at my house running again this year, and I’m hoping we will have dinner together soon. As I drove home, I thought how lucky I am to have such wonderful, inspiring people in my life.

A YEAR AGO: The madness of Covered California. You can’t make this up.