Suzy Says

It was a year of change for me. Maybe too much in too short a time. I lost my job at the end of 2014 and jumped into the hell job in February, jumping ship for a less hellish job in March, and interviewing for a job I was lucky not to get in late summer. I have interviewed more over the past year than in the previous 20 years. I still kept up with the jobette, though, working Saturdays over the summer. Working six days a week was an interesting experience, and taught me a lot about time management.

The year ended on a tragic note, with the staggering loss of my beloved Roscoe. I can’t believe I will never see him again, hear his mournful meow, pet his rough, yet soft fur or his rakish torn ear. His loss leaves a hole in my heart and home which will never be filled.

Trips to San Francisco: 0! For the first time since moving to Hooterville, not one single trip to civilization. That’s what happens when you lose the job that paid for the trips.

Season rainfall (late 2014 through May 2015): 40.43 inches. Better than 2014’s 32.75 inches, but not enough to make a dent in the drought. Let’s hope the El Niño forecast for the 2015-16 winter is accurate, though not too floody.

Power Outages: Three, but they were epic, each time.

All that working made the merest dent in my reading, though, coming in at a count of 93 versus 2014’s 100. Favorite books read this year were all true stories. What Stands in a Storm was both inspiring and harrowing. It follows the lives of several Alabamans during a “superstorm” in 2011. I was so caught up in the lives and experiences of those who survived and those who didn’t that I was reading it with tears pouring down my face and my hands shaking. The Residence tells the fascinating story of the White House servants from the Kennedys to the Obamas. Many of the staff continue to serve the First Families well into their 70s and 80s, and become almost part of the family. Life After Murder follows the lives of men who were paroled after serving long prison sentences, the joys and challenges of adapting to life outside prison walls after decades inside. I learned a lot about California’s alarmingly arbitrary parole system, as well as human nature.

As for my little corner of the world:

January: My New Year’s clean up unearthed some treasures. A great celebration of Jarrett’s birthday. The Covered California madness continues. The many joys of Erica and Jessica. And visiting the dynamic duo in their Batcave/Palace.

February: A dream sparks a childhood memory. It’s nice to meander down memory lane sometimes. Stormageddon blasts into town, taking the power with it. And the weather just keeps getting scarier. I say farewell to my dear co-workers at the jobette. ~Sob~ The beginning of my new job. I love my handyman and my pen pal.

March: It’s Erin to the rescue when a propane leak stops me from getting home after a long day at work. I have such great friends! Why go jump in a lake when you can jump in an icy cold river? For charity? My brother is always my hero. And I have the best ex-husband ever. I also have a new job. Again. Remembering my father and best friend on his birthday. He was the best Dad ever. And speaking of family: it’s always fun to meet more! A trip to the South Coast to revel in a theater production all the way from London. And some spring cleaning at home.

April: A peek at the past, starring Me. In which my veins are found wanting. An evening at the theater. Learning about Hooterville’s past. My blog’s 14th birthday, and a very memorable 12th birthday for a very memorable girl. Saying goodbye
to Lu’s dog Marco, a gentle giant and a gentleman. Sleep well, sweet boy.

May: The Derby and a new ‘do – what’s not to love? It’s official! Stella joins the family. Trying to adjust to my new lot in life. More successfully on some days than others. A lovely evening at the theater. Megan’s wonderful birthday barbecue.

June: The extremeness of Audrey knows no bounds. She really is the Audreyest Audrey ever, from stripy head to expensive toe. A less than stellar birthday for our heroine this year. This was entirely made up for by the utter awesomeness of Junapalooza. Midnight adventures. Remembering a long ago Paris vacation. Megan and I take a day off together.

July: The midnight intruder left quite an impression. A wonderful time at the circus. Erica’s cleverness and creativity know no bounds. The unexpected leads to some unexpected road incidents. Dinner and a movie. The wonderful Kalli’s wonderful annual birthday party. Working six days a week presents some challenges. The retro balcony garden.

August: Fierce wildfires burn in neighboring Lake County, which was brutally hit again a month later by the even worse Valley Fire, whose burn scars could be seen from space. The fourteenth anniversary of Dad’s death. I will never stop missing and loving him. As time passes, I find I think more about how lucky I was to have him than how sad I am at losing him, though the sorrow is always there in my heart and my blood, like the bassline to a song. Of dentists, dogs, and James Dean. An an encounter with a deer. I hope I never have a close(r) encounter, though part of me fears that hitting a deer is pretty much inevitable.

September: Started the month out right with dinner and a play. Musings on cars. My younger, I mean, older brother is now 50! He is one of the most amazing people I know, and one of the best things in my life. Health insurance of any kind is just plain ridiculous, at least in this country. The pleasures of the County Fair. And the displeasure of the time change (even though it hasn’t happened yet. I’m pre-complaining here. It’s all about time management!).

October: Just another Manic Monday. A wonderful visit with a wonderful friend. And my friends can pretty much get me through anything. Taking a little break from it all. Vertigo suddenly rears its ugly head in my pretty one, and refuses to leave. Getting up close and personal with my old friend the moon.

November: Roscoe the hunter (and cuddler). A Jessica-free, but not fun-free Halloween. Our good friend Paul stops by while on a cross-country road trip with his 90 year father. A magical trip to the South Coast (is there any other kind?) to see Benedict Cumberbatch in “Hamlet”. And pick up some Thai food, of course. In which our heroine attempts to become less of a dizzy blonde. Thanksgiving preparations do not go as planned. But a good time was had by all.

December: The joy of the Festival of Lights at the Botanical Gardens. And the agony of losing my beloved cat Roscoe. Oh, Roscoe…

Let there be lights in the darkness. And a soul-soothing mini break, right here in town. And the beauty of the Bolshoi Ballet. A slightly neurotic and busy Christmas Eve, followed by a wonderful Christmas.

I did an OK-ish job of keeping my new year’s resolution to spend more time with friends and family. There’s room for improvement, though in my defense, I do work between 50 and 60 hours a week, which severely cuts into fun time. I would still like to spend more time hanging out with my brother when it’s not related to my car.

As for you, Dear Reader: I wish you health and happiness in this coming new year, and always. Thank you for always being there for me and sharing your wit and wisdom.

A YEAR AGO: A look back at 2014.

Christmas Day dawned both beautiful and cold:

which felt quite seasonal and festive but also meant that it was too cold to sit outside, even with the outdoor fireplace and a stack of wood chopped by my brother and kept dry on the porch. Somehow, we all packed into my little hippie hovel. Here’s Clayton, squeezed by the door to the studio with a glass of red wine to keep him company and keep him warm:

The table was set with all the heirlooms: my English grandmother’s ivory-handled silver and Wedgwood biscuit barrel (with my world-famous cheese biscuits) and salad dish with matching servers, dating from about 1830, and my American grandmother’s wineglasses and glass “Remembrance” platter:

Erica brought not one, but two Bûches de Noël, one a sinful chocolate and the other an Antoinette, based on the Tarte Antoinette (quince membrillo with vanilla chiffon) which was such a huge hit at Thanksgiving:

Jessica brought a Christmas drawing for each of us:

I love mine. And I love that kidlet. She and Jonathan did a spectacular job as always at the traditional reading of “Red Ranger Came Calling” after dinner, alternating pages and outdoing each other with showmanship:

You will notice that this is the first year she is too big to sit on Jonathan’s lap. Also that she is wearing fuzzy skeleton PJs.

It was great to share all our holiday traditions with old friends and new, and my house was overflowing with love and joy that night. It may have been cold outside, but it sure was warm and wonderful inside.

A YEAR AGO: A merry Christmas.

Here in Hooterville, it dawned bright and sunny, and you know what that means: it’s cold! Clyde and I are sitting by the heater and watching the Queen’s Speech together. I always find it inspiring, but this year I was particularly touched by her saying, “Christmas is a good time to be thankful for for all that brings light to our lives.”

Last night’s festivities were delightful. I can’t tell you how it gladdened my heart to see our old friend Clayton coming through my door with his beautiful smile and his friend John in tow. John also lives in San Francisco, but he hails from Birmingham, and he is a total hoot. It was nice to have an English voice at our celebrations again after all these years.

Clyde took one look at the visitors and fled, like Roscoe used to do, and hid in the studio until the evening was over, also like Roscoe. He used to be the life of the party, strolling among the guests for pets and admiration. Audrey joined him there and they both only emerged when the coast was finally clear. Maybe my cats are no longer party animals.

Everyone else was, though, and more wine was drunk and food was eaten than I expected, and a good time was had by all.

As for today, I will make cheese biscuits and get the garlic mashed potatoes ready to go. The salad and dressing are ready, and Jonathan is in charge of the ham. Megan is going to take Clayton and John for a walk with the dogs somewhere scenic, and Erica is going to take them mushroom hunting in the early afternoon. One of the many prizes she won at the County Fair this year was for wool dyed with mushrooms she foraged on the family property.

And that means…I will have an afternoon with Jessica! When she returned from her most recent visit with her deadbeat dad, she told Erica, “Thank you for saving me from the gaping maw of normalcy.” Is it any wonder she is my favorite kid on the planet?

Merry Christmas to all of you from all of us!

The glorious Bolshoi Ballet

Megan and I braved the stormy, twisty roads to head to the South Coast last weekend. Rain and wind lashed Wednesday, and even the fearless former ambulance driver had to concentrate on the road instead of the spectacular ocean and scenery. I was glad I wasn’t driving.

Our first stop was Anchor Bay Thai Kitchen, of course, where we loaded up on enough delicacies for both dinner that night and Megan’s long work week ahead, and then headed back to Point Arena. The Arena Theater was showing a recording of the Bolshoi Ballet performing The Nutcracker.

I showed Megan the bliss of the balcony, and she agreed that it was definitely the place to be. On the screen, there were images of the breathtaking Bolshoi Theater, built when this country was just getting started. I still remember the beauty of the buildings I saw when I went to Russia just after glasnost, especially the Catherine Palace and the Hermitage.

Megan studied ballet for many years when she was young, before her knee defects (an unfortunate family trait which skipped me but also plagues our brother) sidelined her. As we took our seats, she reminded me how I never missed her recitals and how much it meant to her. It meant a lot to me, too. And all these years later, it was an extra pleasure to watch what are probably the world’s elite ballet dancers with someone who was trained in that difficult, yet glorious art.

The Nutcracker/Prince was played by the very handsome Denis Rodkin, who had an incredible combination of power and grace. He was the best dancer, but the Mouse King, going into battle armed with nothing but a fantastic fashion sense, stole my heart with his purple, ermine-trimmed cape and huge gold star on his chest. The snowflake dance, set in a magical forest with a glittering white tree (much more elegant than the one in my living room), was our favorite part, though we also loved the Arabic dance.

All in all, it was a delightful experience, a wonderful combination of memories old and new. I love it that we have access to some of the world’s greatest artists here in our little corner of the world.

Jessica and I watched “Trains, Planes and Automobiles” together on Thanksgiving, the appropriate day to introduce her to this holiday classic*. During the scene where Steve Martin is desperately trying to get a cab in rush hour New York, Jessica turned to me and asked, “Is it true that Megan can always get a cab?” I told her that the legend was true, and she was suitably impressed. Now that we live in a taxi-free zone, this talent has evolved into CHP ESP and the ability to find parking spots just about anywhere (some more successful than others, however).

Megan’s amazing parking locating ability found us a place right outside the front door at the Botanical Gardens. It seemed too good to be true: was it a loading zone? A handicapped spot? But no, the only caveat was “Compact”, and her little red car fit right in between the lines. And we were early enough to avoid the lines: when we left, the line was snaking through the parking lot, where no spaces were to be found, even by Megan. I imagine the one we vacated was taken in about a millisecond.

The Botanical Gardens are always a magical place. They consist of almost 50 acres and flowerbeds that reach all the way to the sea. Something is always blooming, year-round. They are home to so many species of birds that the local Audubon Society holds weekly bird watching sessions there (one of which I enjoyed very much back in the good old jobette days). On winter evenings, they are transformed into a winter wonderland, with lights sparkling in the trees and flowerbeds, and surprises like giraffes looming out of the cypresses:

reminding me of Jagger and Buster at the B. Bryan Preserve and the wonderful visit there for Jessica’s last birthday.

Jellyfish floated in the chilly air:

and, appropriately enough for this maritime area, a ship sailed through rough seas (don’t miss the whale’s tail):

There was a fire pit where you could toast yourself and some marshmallows before heading out to see the rest of the lights and sights. Leaving the busy parking lot and weaving our way through the would-be spectators, it soon became apparent that we had left the lights behind in the gardens, because there were none in the car. No headlights, that is.

Fortunately for us, the high beams worked, even though the regular beams didn’t. Needless to say this, like everything else car, was a total mystery to me, but at least we could get home. We did feel like complete jerks on the way home, though, since we were unable to dim the high beams, which was highly disapproved of by those who flashed theirs at us. But there was no choice – there were no streetlights and no ambient light on the 20 miles of dark, winding country roads between the Big Town and Hooterville. Luckily Rob was able to fix the lights before Megan started her four night shifts of the week. We passed each other in the driveway on Monday evening, me on my way home and Megan on her way to work, both of us with our headlights glowing in the darkness.

*I was shocked, shocked, as Louis Renault would say, to learn that Jessica is unfamiliar with the oeuvre of the late, great John Hughes. I can’t wait to watch “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” and “Pretty in Pink” with her. We need to schedule a sleepover.

It was 44 festive degrees in my house this morning. The boys and I huddled by the heater while the intrepid Audrey went out to explore in the chilly sunshine. I hear that it’s colder here lately than in parts of Alaska, which just seems wrong. Hooterville: putting the “North” in “Northern California”!

With the big chill, we went through most of the wood that my brother brought over for the outdoor fireplace. I had thoughtfully equipped the outdoor living room with throw blankets, but they remained unused (though commented upon), unlike the pillows, candles and an ashtray or two.

Erica and Jessica arrived first, replete with boxes of delicacies: wild mushroom tartlet appetizers; caramelized Brussels sprouts; a truffle-rich pie made from a squash grown on our family property, and Tarte Antoinette, made with a layer of home grown quince transformed into membrillo and then layered with vanilla chiffon. Even by Erica’s extremely high standards, it may have been the most delicious thing she has ever made:

Jessica was sporting the world’s most fabulous (and possibly Suzy-est) hat and fingerless gloves ever:

Needless to say, the ensemble, like Jessica herself, is an Erica original. Jessica returned the string of jade beads she had borrowed from the jewelry library last year, selecting a new item for this year. I noticed that all the items she has borrowed so far were given to me by my father.

Lichen still hasn’t realized that Thanksgiving (which is two days after his own birthday) isn’t a gift-giving occasion, so he brought a golden gift bag with artisan root beer for Jessica (“I’m obsessed with root beer!” she exclaimed happily). The root beer had a string of garnets fastened around its neck just for added Lichen-ness.

Jarrett and Kalli arrived with Kalli’s (very little) sister, who is five, and their dog, Archimedes, who was the World’s Cutest Puppy just three years ago, when he posed adorably on my couch. The cats did not find Archi adorable at all. Roscoe vanished for the remainder of the evening, while Clyde and Audrey repaired to the relative safety of the sleeping loft, where they could keep an eye on the intruder. The stairs did not, however, stop the kindergartener, who quickly and accurately assessed the situation: “That stripy cat is mean! But the black one is nice.”

Although she also opined that the dressing I made with the torturous chestnuts and Café Beaujolais Austrian sunflower seed bread “tasted like Subway”, dinner was great. In addition to Subway stuffing and Erica’s caramelized Brussels sprouts, there were mashed potatoes, carrots roasted with cumin and turmeric, fresh-pressed cider from the family orchard, freshly picked huckleberry tarts made by my brother, and cranberry bourbon relish. Jonathan sliced up the turkey after making a wonderful gravy:

We used every single piece of my grandmother’s ivory handled silver and every single plate in the house. Once again, some how, some way, I pulled off dinner for 15 people in my tiny house, and everyone, from the kindergartener to Me (why am I always the oldest?) had a great time. It fills my heart with joy to have my house overflowing with family and friends.

After the guests left, Megan and I put on some music and sat by the dying fire with that bottle of Cointreau, talking about the evening and the Thanksgivings past as the moon shone down on us and the stars sparkled. Life is good.

A YEAR AGO: Post Thanksgiving post.

Once again, Thanksgiving seemed to sneak up on me, even though I knew it was coming. I found myself lying awake at night “fretting” about it, as my ex used to say*. I later realized that this was partly due to having to plan and execute parties and huge catered meetings at work this month and next, in addition to having the family gathering at my house, and partly due to the fact that for the last several years, when I hostessed with the leastest, I wasn’t working in the Big Town for 5 or 6 days and/or 50 hours a week. So making Thanksgiving is more challenging than usual this time.

As usual, I’m not sure how many people will show up or where I will put them, but somehow we always figure that out. I have commissioned Rob to repo chairs from the family property, where they migrate during the summer party season, and bring them to my house for the winter season. He is also in charge of finding wood to put in the outdoor fireplace for the smoking/outdoor partiers. Despite the drought, I am hoping it doesn’t rain until after Thanksgiving. I need all the seating I can get.

Megan ordered the organic turkey from the Gro, excavated the roasting pan (which was our mother’s, and like everything Mom, it is the Cadillac of roasting pans) and lent me one of her big glass baking dishes for what my Southern friends call dressing. I have apparently learned nothing from previous years, because I assigned myself chestnuts to roast and peel for said dressing, although I know perfectly well that the torture the process inflicts is totally against the Geneva Conventions. As usual, the lure of deliciousness temporarily overcame my inherent laziness.

I also tried to fit in shopping here and there. I stopped in at Safeway before work one morning, and bought a six pack of wine, a bottle of Cointreau (for Megan and me after the guests leave), and cookies for 45 people for a work meeting. Yes, it was 7 am and I was buying nothing but booze and sugar. Of course, the clerk was the best friend of the person who does payroll at work, and ahead of me in line was the head of our IT department, buying virtuous yogurt and a banana. I can explain…

Megan and I met Erica in the beautiful Valley and handed over a Hubbard squash from the garden for her to Erica-ize into a pie (Jonathan is making a pie from apples grown on the property). I’m hoping she and Jessica can come early to hang out with me before everyone else gets there.

As for me, I’m hoping/planning/dreaming of getting out of work early on Wednesday to superficially clean the house (only things that show!), make my famous cranberry-bourbon relish (how surprised are you that I still have Jack Daniel’s left over from last year?) and roast those damn chestnuts with a minimum of swearing. Stay tuned…

*Him: Are you lying there fretting about something?

Me (Reluctantly): Yeeess…

Him (Reasonably): Well, what can you do about it now?

Me (Sadly): Nothing…

Him (Patiently): Then go to sleep.

He would go to sleep and I’d lie there, fretting.

I’m happy to report that it’s raining as I write. It was coming down hard enough last night on the roof/walls to wake me up, confused for a few seconds by what that sound was. I will have to put out the rain gauge and put away the outside furniture (except for Thanksgiving and Christmas).

On the other hand, I can hear the dripping of the annual kitchen leak, and there’s a new one in the laundry room, which is at least conveniently routed to the floor drain.

Surprisingly, the cats are out playing in the wetness. Maybe they missed it too.

This has been a pretty friendly week around Hooterville. Our good friend Paul returned, with his father Mike in tow. Through my former jobette connections, I got them a nice room at a hotel overlooking an estuary, and met them there before setting off to Hooterville.

It was Mike’s first visit, and he was amazed by how beautiful it is here. He had a guided tour of the family property, including the epic garden/party palace and everyone except Megan, who was working her fourth 12 hour night shift of the week at the ER, convened at my house for dinner.

Paul decided to keep it simpler than usual this time, so it was salad and pasta with sauce from the garden, and Jonathan brought apple crisp made from the family orchard’s trees.

Paul and his Dad swapped war stories over dinner. Mike was in the Army in London in WWII, and was in a pub on Baker Street wearing his new, tailored uniform (and, knowing Mike, picking up girls) when a buzz bomb hit. Mike woke up in rubble, covered in cement, still holding his beer. All he could think of was that his brand-new uniform was ruined*. Paul flew helicopters in Vietnam, and on his second day there, went to get a couple of cold beers when snipers started shooting at him. He slid down the sandy sides of a nearby gulf, landing at the bottom with both beers intact, as is the family style.

They are now headed back to Florida, and I miss them already.

*This reminded me of when my father’s mother finally got a voucher for fresh eggs after years of rationing during WWII. She took her two children with her to get them, and on the way home with the precious cargo, they were bombed. As they hid, my grandmother, with her arms around her children, prayed for the safety of her eggs. You will be pleased to hear that all the eggs survived.

A YEAR AGO: A little post-Halloween horror, brought to me by Clyde.

Hedgeskull

On Halloween, I donned the kitty ears Erica gave me last year (they are quite becoming), and Megan draped her light up skull necklace around her neck, and we headed to the Village on a foggy Halloween afternoon.

Our first stop, as it often is, was the bookstore, where the Great Catsby was ensconced on a windowseat getting some beauty sleep. The public’s adoration can be exhausting, and I took his tail twitching, even in his sleep, to mean that he was not in the market for more pets and fussing, so I left him to his cat nap. We had fun perusing the shelves and admiring the trick or treaters, especially the little kids dressed as fuzzy turtles and ladybugs. I noticed that devil costumes were popular this year, both among the grown-ups and the kids.

Jessica partied with her entourage instead of her auntourage this year, but Erica sent me a snap of her dressed as Draco Malfoy’s dead sister:

My guess was the wraith of Yves Saint Laurent. Doesn’t she look so YSL?

After the bookstore, we made our way over to the street party, where the local circus troupe was putting on a performance of aerial silks. As the fog intensified, we watched the amazing athleticism and beauty of the performers:

I was equally impressed by their strength, daring, and how it’s like ballet up in the air.

It was pretty much fogging by the time we headed back to Megan’s little house in the big woods. That’s when you can’t tell if it’s very heavy fog or very light rain, but you’re soaking wet. Fortunately, Megan had the foresight to make ribollita soup beforehand, so we enjoyed a hot bowl of home-made soup (made with some veggies from the epic family garden) along with an episode or two of “Orange Is the New Black”. Because orange and black are Halloween colors. And there may have been candy for dessert.

A YEAR AGO: A busy post-time change day.

The vertigo is fading, though it still rears its ugly head when I lay down my pretty one, and reminds me that it’s still around when I sit up in the morning. I am in line for a referral to a physiotherapist, who is supposed to do some kind of desensitization therapy which I hope will get rid of the vertigo for good (which would definitely be good). A friend of a friend is also casting a spell for me. Whatever works.

Maybe it’s the “it will take you longer to recover because of your age” remark from the doc (who is at least 15 years older than I am), but I keep worrying that this is the beginning of the long, slow decline into old age, even though I’m not that old and I have always been pretty healthy. Maybe I took it for granted all these years. I promise to appreciate it more if the vertigo goes away forever. I swear!

While I was languishing in dizzy world, my sibs were busily canning the garden produce, and I came home one day to find that either the Food Fairy had stopped by, or Santa was doing a trial run*. There were jars of tomato sauce, relish, and salsa verde:

So in the depths of winter, we can open a jar and taste summer again.

*I may not have a chimney, but I do have a wide variety of unlocked doors for the jolly old elf to choose from. Assuming Luna and Lupe (or Audrey) don’t chase him away.

A YEAR AGO: Rejoicing over the Giants’ third World Series win in 5 years. Next year, boys. Next year.

NASA worthy contraption. Doesn’t everyone have one?

What better way to celebrate my 6th anniversary of moving to Hooterville than a BBQ with my family and our old friend Paul?

We have known Paul since the long ago Pier 39 days, when he, Megan, and Jonathan all lived on boats there. Now he lives in Florida in the winter, where he hosted me a few years back, and in the Hamptons in the summer, where he caters for the rich and (in)famous and refuses to give me any celebrity dish, no matter how many times I ask him. He claims the stars don’t talk to the help, but I remain convinced that he’s holding out on me.

Fortunately for us, he also caters to the poor and unknown, and he and Megan pulled up at our brother’s place with bags full of food. Jonathan had the wood going in the Weber – no charcoal briquettes for us – and Tenacious D blasting. Paul set to work cutting up chickens and marinating them in soy sauce, Dijon, brown sugar and vinegar:

Before moving on to slicing up sweet potatoes and zucchini, which he dusted with a magical blend of spices before putting them on the BBQ.

It had been a while since Paul visited us, so the Waltons-sized picnic table my brother built was new to him, and I reminded him that the slab of quarter-sawn white oak he was using for a cutting board (seen in the photo above) was the piece Jonathan cut out to accommodate the sink on the slab of wood he installed as a counter top in the kitchen of my San Francisco apartment many years ago.

Paul was on a road trip with his 90 year old father and much younger uncle. They had driven from Florida on a magical mystery tour of meeting various relatives, some of whom Paul had never met before and his father hadn’t seen in decades. We were a brief stop between San Francisco (where Paul’s Dad and uncle stayed while Paul came up here) and Seattle, where they are headed next. Paul says they will all stop by on their way back to San Francisco, and will hopefully stay for a couple of days.

While dinner was slowly cooking over the BBQ, we admired the NASA sized telescope which a fellow ham radio aficionado had given to my brother:

For free. The reflective lens needed cleaning, which Jonathan did, very carefully, and other than that, the whole contraption, which dates back to the 1950s or so, is in perfect working order. He aimed it at the moon, and I was completely unprepared for what I saw when I peeked through the lens. I could see every crater, dip, and mountain on the moon! The shadowy side was ridged with mountains, not at all smooth, the way it appears from a distance. I could practically see the flag planted up there. It was amazing.

Dinner was also amazing, and it was great to sit by the fire after a long day, eating and talking with some of my favorite people in the world. I’m glad Paul is coming back soon and we’ll have more time together.

A YEAR AGO: Cats vs. birds. And a sad farewell.

Megan and I hopped in her little red car and headed over to Lichen’s place on the magical South Coast.

It was a postcard day, without a cloud in the sky, the ocean impossibly blue with waves crashing against the wild, rocky coastline with its dark, windswept trees. After a short and pretty drive, we arrived at Camp Lichen, where Marley was joined by a pretty, stripy cat named Mouser:

who is visiting indefinitely while his owner is off doing other things, much like the Lovely Rita and me so many years ago.

When Lichen isn’t creating beautiful landscapes at other people’s houses (and his own) or training wayward pets or cutting people’s hair (the ostensible reason for the visit was a haircut for Megan), he is making leaves out of cement:

Sometimes they’re painted and sometime they’re not, but either way, they make amazing art, whether in the garden or inside the house. He is so talented.

Megan perched on a wooden stool on the deck overlooking the garden and the ocean:

while Lichen cut her hair. Megan inherited Mom’s glossy, thick, wavy hair, and Lichen actually has to thin it out. Mom never lost her hair, even with years of chemo and radiation. She just got regular density hair, and it never really went grey, either.

After the haircut, we finally got a look at the kitchen:

You may remember that when Lichen moved in last winter, there was no kitchen and his landlords kindly allowed him to design one from Ikea and had it installed. I was worried that it would look too dark, but it looks great, though my photo is a little glare-y due to the sun being so sunny that day. You know how it is.

Before we left, Lichen loaded us up with pumpkins. If the Great Pumpkin really is looking for the most sincere pumpkin patch, I know where he’ll be on Halloween:

We set off homewards with hugs and waves. We are so lucky to have such great friends.

A YEAR AGO: Another visit to the South Coast. Must be the time of the season.

Saturday was my last day of working at the jobette. For real-real, as Jessica used to say in her long-ago youth. They have hired someone to work from Tuesday through Saturday, so they will only need me on Saturdays to fill in for her if she has to work an event or something.

I walked slowly through the familiar shop after I turned out the lights, and turned the sign to “Closed”, feeling a little sad. It was just a summer job, but it kept me connected to my former work family and the visitors. I guess it’s always hard to say goodbye.

Fortunately, my brother and sister decided to have an impromptu BBQ that evening for no particular reason, so I headed over there after I went home and changed out of my work clothes and corralled the kitties.

Our good friend Lichen was there:

Here’s a view of the canopy Rob picked up at the mall. You can see some of the Waltons-sized picnic table my brother built out of redwood a couple of years ago:

In case you’re wondering who the mystery dog is in the picture, it’s Marley. Marley is at Camp Lichen for a few days, learning valuable lessons like how not to whine his ass off when temporarily left in the car by his owner. Lichen is an excellent dog trainer, being both gentle and intolerant of nonsense.

Jonathan grilled up a simple dinner of sausages, and I thought that it won’t be long until he is manning the ‘cue for the traditional Christmas ham. This year the equally traditional split pea soup will be made of beans from the garden. I have heard rumors that I should resurrect making parsnip vichyssoise for Christmas Eve from the garden’s parsnips. And that there are plans afoot to make hard cider from all those apples.

Later, the moon rose over the garden:

I suck at taking moon pictures, y’all. Even though the moon and I are pretty close after the mystical experience we shared a couple of years ago, I have never been able to take a good photo of her. Maybe she needs to start considering selfies and stop letting Kim Kardashian have all the fun.

A YEAR AGO: Bugs and fairies. You know, the usual.

It’s the middle of September, and you know what that means: time for the County Fair!

I left work early on Friday afternoon, picked up Megan, and set off fairwards. It was a postcard day, with not even a wisp of Karl the Fog* over the shining blue Pacific as we wended our way through the eternal redwoods and into sunny Anderson Valley.

When we lived in San Francisco, one of Megan’s many gifts was being able to get a taxi anywhere, any time. This talent has been modified over many years of country living to always being able to find a parking spot** (and a sort of ESP when it comes to California Highway Patrol, an ability that has undoubtedly saved her many tickets over the years). Fair Day was no exception, as she neatly parked Wednesday about a block from the fairgrounds.

We texted Erica on arrival and found that she was also there, so we happily met up in the floral building, where there was a Suzy theme going on, including pinkness and whimsy:

accessorized by glittery silver shoes. On a silver platter, no less!

The glamor theme continued in the livestock area, with fashion forward fowl whose outfit I coveted:

and glamorous goats with glitter signs. We even got to pet the world’s softest bunny, belonging to a very young and very poised 4-H girl.

In the agriculture building, it soon became clear that both the wildfires and the drought had taken a serious toll. The “biggest” pumpkin in the weigh off this year was a mere 200 pounds:

compared to last year’s 700 pounder. There was very little produce on display at all, other than apples and grapes. I wonder if this is the beginning of a new era.

It was a new era Jessica-wise as well. This was the first year she spent most of her time with her friends instead of her auntourage. In case you’re wondering: I chose not to embarrass Jessica by taking her picture when she was with her posse. I know this is the way it should be, but it makes me a little wistful about time passing and how she is no longer a little girl. Indeed, her curves are kicking in, despite her model slimness, and it was alarming to observe the effect she had on the male population. To be fair, she was wearing sunglasses, so they couldn’t know how young she was, but yikes. Fortunately, she has a good head on her shoulders and a smart mama.

Megan and I enjoyed strolling around the fair with Jessica’s smart mama. She has recently acquired two cattens (not quite cats; not quite kittens), a long-haired black female named Hecate and a short-haired grey male named Man Ray. They are rescued litter mates. I must go and meet them as soon as I stop working on Saturdays.

So it was kind of a skimpy fair this year, but we still had fun. I always have fun with Megan, Erica and Jessica.

*As I write, it’s 86 heinous degrees in my living room. I think Karl needs a nice, relaxing visit to the Mendocino Coast. He can be seen here hanging out in my old ‘hood:

**Sometimes this has backfired on her, though.

A YEAR AGO: At the Fair, of course!

We celebrated Jonathan’s 50th birthday* last weekend with, appropriately enough, a garden party. Well, a garden party our style. And it’s appropriate because the 80 foot by 80 foot garden/party palace was made with the hard work and vision of my siblings, with a little help from our (heavy machinery owning) friends. It all started a few years ago, when Megan and Jonathan decided to grub up the huckleberries and bull pines and make a garden out of nothing.

I sometimes wonder if they regret making this dream come true, since they seem to spend half of the year weeding, making compost tea, and watering and the other half canning, preserving, and getting ready for next year.

Jonathan spent his actual birthday climbing a mountain:

Which seems only fitting for an adventurous guy who is never happier than when he’s rescuing someone who fell off a cliff, or fighting wildfires, or scuba diving in or sailing down the coast of the notoriously dangerous Pacific. When he got back from his birthday adventure, he was greeted by a birthday dinner of spaghetti squash and sauce made of tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, and basil, all grown in the garden and served on the Waltons-sized picnic table he built a couple of years ago, now ensconced under the canopy Rob picked up at the mall**.

Erica made fried green tomatoes on the outside burner – dinner theater! She also made a fantastic southern Italian polenta cake with ginger-peach jam, dried figs, and quince steeped brandy. She grew all the fruit, so our home grown theme continued.

Our friend Carrie joined us, with her daughter Miranda, who is now 13. It had been a couple of years since Carrie and Miranda made it up here to visit from the Bay Area, and Miranda has become the cat whisperer. She was actually able to pet Jonathan’s skittish, semi-feral mini cat Scout outside, a nearly unheard of feat. While Miranda was charming Scout, we reminisced about how Carrie had come to my apartment in San Francisco for Thanksgiving dinner just weeks before Miranda was born and other happy memories from long ago.

The sun set in a spectacular fashion, the sky suffused with enough pink and lavender to gladden a Suzy’s heart (or make a Garden Party cocktail) above the dark trees. The technicolor gave way to glorious black and white, in the form of cloudless, ink black sky and brilliant stars. The city dwellers were awed by the light show, which reminded me to maybe not take it quite so much for granted.

As Jessica escorted Fair Suzy to her car, I realized that I had failed to take a single photo that evening. I was having too much fun eating and talking and being with my friends and family. I read somewhere that you make better memories if you don’t take pictures, because you’re living it instead of documenting it. I don’t know if it’s true, but I do know that it was a wonderful, memorable evening.

Here’s to the next half century!

*He is now my older brother. 🙂