Suzy Says

Star meets Padawan, June 2010

Yesterday morning, I saw Schatzi go tearing past my house. Alarmed, yet impressed with her speed given her state of decrepitude, I hurried outside to make sure she was OK. Calling her is pointless at this point, yet I persist in doing it. I clapped my hands a few times and Star came bounding up, but no Schatz.

I accompanied Star back to her rightful residence, despite the fact that I was wearing PJs and slippers and the driveway was full of puddles. Somehow, the speeding Schatzi had beaten me there.

Megan was still up. And something was up. I guess a speeding dog can be an omen, just like a shooting star or a meteor.

When L cut our hair a couple of weeks ago, Megan thought his dog, Padawan, looked pretty bad. She was having trouble walking, and was panting, though it wasn’t hot. She persuaded L to take Padawan to the vet. It was nice Dr. Carl, and he had to tell L that Padawan had cancer in her leg. She is an 11 year old Rottweiler, and even if her leg was amputated, the cancer had spread, and was a particularly nasty and fast-moving one.

It moved faster than we expected. L asked Megan to call Dr. Karen and make arrangements. She waited until it was late enough to call – keep in mind that she had just come home from her 12 hour night shift – and got an appointment for 4:30. She relayed this to L, who said it would have to be sooner. So we settled on 11:00.

Megan took L and Padawan to the vet. Poor Pad yelped on the way there – it was definitely time. Dr. Karen came out to the car, parked beside the garden at the back of her office, and released Padawan from all that pain and suffering. She was very kind and gentle.

When it was over, Megan called Jonathan and me, and we met them at L’s house. The EMS workers efficiently and lovingly transferred Pad’s body to a wheelbarrow for her last journey. Jonathan took charge and I carried the tools. We made our way down the steep path to the spot L had chosen, overlooking his house, bowered in ancient trees.

It was hard work, but as I thought when we laid little Henry to rest this same time last year, it is somehow therapeutic to do this last thing with your own hands for a loved one. Padawan rested in the spring sunshine as we worked. We all bade her a final farewell as the birds sang and the water rushed by far below.

L asked to be left alone, and we all hugged him goodbye. It was hard to leave him there, but I know he is not really alone, and neither is Padawan. They will always be together.

My brother’s cat Twilley guarding the premises

Fortunately, the skunk smell vanished as suddenly as it arrived. I left the doors open when Megan and I ran errands on Saturday, and by the time I got home, it was magically gone. I’m lucky that the skunk didn’t decide to take up residence under the house, or otherwise makes its presence pungently known.

I’ve seen skunks a few times, out in the garden at night, and they are very striking with their black and white fur and dramatic tails. I also find their funny, trundling walk kind of cute. But that’s about as far as I go with them.

My left hand is recovering nicely from the burn. Those burn bandages seem to be magic, because you can certainly see where I got burned, but my fingers aren’t blistered and they don’t hurt any more (unlike my right hand). So yay for Megan and emergency services on demand.

On Saturday evening, my brother convinced me to come over for a barbecue. I was tired from three full days at the jobette, plus twelve hours of conference calls in two days, followed by Jessica’s birthday lunch and a half day of errands on Saturday (the three hour tour). I really just wanted to collapse on the couch and watch that new mini series of Mildred Pierce starring Kate Winslet, but it takes more energy to argue with my brother than it does to just give in and go there, so that is what I did.

David and Jennifer, who jointly own the property with my siblings, but live elsewhere, were here visiting, and it was nice catching up with them. It was a little on the foggy side, but it was warm by the fire. This may have been the first barbecue of the year, now that I think about it. We had purple potatoes (in the foil packets) and skewers of red onion, zucchini, sausage, and chicken:

It was delicious. We had a great time. They were here until Tuesday, but I missed them due to work. Hopefully they will come back more often, now that the weather is (supposedly) getting nicer. Maybe next time they’ll bring their horses!

Well, Clyde won the battle of the painting.

But if Rob has anything to do with it, Clyde won’t win the war.

I was awoken by a crash this morning. Not thunder, not hail, but pretty loud all the same. I didn’t even have to get downstairs before I could see what happened. The painting was no longer above the shelf over the couch, as you see here (aka the Good Old Days – who knew?):

It was on the floor. Miraculously, it wasn’t broken, though I can’t say the same for the vase you see in the middle of the shelf in the picture above.

On the bright side, none of Rob’s pottery was broken (I have the premier collection of RobCo ceramics on the west coast), and the painting was unharmed.

It’s about five feet wide and four feet tall, so it wasn’t easy for me to maneuver, but I managed to get it across the room and lean it against the staircase. As I waited for the coffee to perk (and perk me up), it occurred to me that there are no good answers here. If I put it back up – well, if Rob does – the Battle of the Painting will resume. Also I had previously thought that Clyde tried to climb it to get my attention, but apparently it’s just a hobby.

If I leave it where it is, it may well suffer the terrible fate of the records, and be clawed to death by the Demon Kittens.

If I put it away, I’ll lose my window to the city and the joy the painting has given me over the past fifteen years.

My living room now looks bleak and sad:

By the way – Rob made that shell-shaped plate and its stand.

I told Megan about the whole fiasco, and pretty soon Rob came over to inspect the damage. His thought was that Clyde probably approached the shelf from the side, instead of the front. So he stapled some cardboard to ends of the shelf and baited it with a huge plastic dragon:

to see if Clyde can still get up on the shelf. If it foils him, Rob will make something out of wood and fasten it to the ends for permanent foiling.

Needless to say, the cats have not gone anywhere near it or shown the slightest interest in the giant plastic dragon over the past six hours, even though it’s rainy and depressing outside and you’d think they’d be bored. Maybe I’ll find out tonight.

Rain, hail, and thunder woke me up early this morning. I lay there in the darkness and remembered that it’s Dad’s birthday. He would have been 80 today.

As I made coffee, the antique Wedgwood I inherited from him looked on calmly, as it has watched generations of our family for 120 years. My father’s cookbooks are on the shelf, as well as the books he authored, and a picture of him as a nine year old boy, holding a gun and laughing gleefully with his friend Brian, who was his friend his entire life and his best man when he married my mother, more than half a century ago.

If my wallet were ever stolen, the only thing I would really lament losing is the little note from Dad which reads “See you, kid-o”. When we were in Russia in 1991, he was moved to tears when his wallet was stolen*, because it contained a little prayer his mother had written out for him and given to him when he first went to college. Sentiment – and carrying sentimental things in our wallets – runs in the family.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see him. I don’t look particularly like either of my parents, though I am the only one who got Mom’s green eyes. Megan has Dad’s nose and Jonathan his blue, blue eyes. I think my hands look like Dad’s and his mother’s, though. And I have his love of travel and cooking.

I worked for twelve hours today, which I think he would have liked. He always worked hard, and loved his work. He told me more than once that he would have done it for free. And he left the world a better place than he found it, which is perhaps all any of us can wish for. Though I wish he was still with us to celebrate his 80th birthday.

Dad, I will always love you and always miss you. And though I should be celebrating the day my best friend was born, I can’t help but mourn the loss of him. As I write, the rain and hail have started again, heavier than ever, and darkness has fallen once again.

*His money and credit cards were not in the wallet, undoubtedly to the thief’s disappointment.

You all know that I loathe the twice yearly madness of the time change, so I won’t tell you again. But I will just say that my body and I are going to know perfectly well that it’s really 5:30 am when the alarm goes off tomorrow. I may finally need the alarm to go off to haul Self out of bed in the newly-restored morning darkness (thanks, government!). In the month since starting the jobette my record of waking up before the alarm has been unblemished (thanks, kitties!).

Now that I have to get up and go to work on Monday, Sunday has acquired the familiar feeling of dread going back to school days, when prison doors yawned and homework was belated and possibly incomplete as Sunday arrived. Just like I did then, I put out my clothes for the following day and try not to think about it.

Monday Eve seemed to arrive particularly fast since I did a special guest appearance at the jobette on Thursday. The database needed wrestling into submission, and time was running out. I have to check 35,000 entries for duplicates and delete the offenders by this Wednesday.

Fortunately, Rob has ceramics class on Thursdays, so we were able to carpool again. But greenosity has its price.

Absorbed in his work, he lost track of the time, and arrived half an hour late to pick me up. He left his cell phone at home, which he had noticed about halfway to town, so I knew there was no point in trying to call him. After he arrived, Star in tow, he realized that he had forgotten something at school, so we went back to where he had just come from.

After that, we took Star to Lu’s house so she could stay there while Rob and Megan went to the city on Friday (the trip that was cancelled by the tsunami warnings, but we didn’t know that at the time). Lu was home sick, but we stayed and chatted for a while.

When we were on our way again, Rob saw that the “add water” light was on the car. The water leakage is an ongoing problem which has rendered their car unable to drive to the city. Rob and Jonathan have been trying to diagnose the source of the leak to no avail. We stopped at a townette which might have water at one place.

The one place was closed. Rob considered puddle water from a couple of different puddles despite my veto, got distracted by a fallen sign which might perhaps be converted to a windmill blade if they make another one, discovered it was still attached to a pole, and rejected it as impracticable.

Partway through the townette, Rob paused the car to show me why you shouldn’t leave your siding and roof unfinished for extended periods of time, pointing out the problems it had caused a certain house. It was interesting, but I really wanted to get home at this point in the game. I thought longingly of my kitty PJs.

Once my daily ration of education was complete, we got back on the road briefly, stopping at the next townette to get water. I was pretty confident that water was available at this location, and so it was. Rob debated getting coffee (unlike the car, he appears to run on coffee and cigarettes almost exclusively) and decided against it.

I was pretty happy to see the welcoming sight of Hooterville, though not happy enough to want to stop there. Rob, however, wanted to check the mail, get half and half, and oh, why not? A coffee to go. While he did all this, I checked the local paper and learned that our seasonal rainfall has reached 38.8 inches*.

When Rob returned to the car, he had a parts catalogue for him, and junk mail for me. Coffee in hand, he started to peruse the catalogue. After a few minutes, I finally said, “You know, Megan’s probably awake and waiting for that half and half.”

By now, it was about two hours since Rob picked me up. I’m now beginning to understand how it can take him all afternoon to go to the dump, or an hour to go to the Hooterville store, a mere five miles away. It takes talent. And it takes a Rob.

*My rain gauge did not survive the unexpected snowfall a couple of weeks ago. The water inside it expanded as it froze and broke into several pieces. Those pesky laws of physics!

Calm seas

Last night, I happened to be channel-surfing and came across the shocking footage of the Japanese earthquake. Any Californian feels a certain kinship with fellow earthquake sufferers, and I was appalled by the size of the disaster: 8.9 on the Richter scale. To put it in perspective, the 1989 Loma Prieta quake was a 6.9, and the 1906 “Great” quake, which devastated most of the city, was about an 8. Keep in mind that a quake measuring 9.0 is 10 times greater than one measuring 8.0. This is one of the five strongest quakes in recorded history.

Scary, scary stuff.

This morning, I woke up to an announcement in my email* saying that the one and only road to San Francisco was closed, as were several state parks (including the beach I pass on my way to work and back) and schools. I quickly called Megan, since she and Rob were planning to go to San Francisco this morning to consult with some specialists about Rob’s continuing spinal issues (yes, there is more surgery in his future). Fortunately, they hadn’t left yet, though they wouldn’t have gotten far.

They rescheduled the appointment, and we all headed down to the local store, partly to get propane and partly to find out what was going on and have a peek at the ocean. The ocean, as you see above, was living up to its name and was actually calmer than it was yesterday. The local fire department and emergency services were on alert, though nothing had happened yet. This afternoon, I got another email alert saying that there had been serious destruction caused by the tsunami in the harbor in the big town. The very harbor where we have our few but fabulous girls’ nights out.

Wow.

As I write, Dad’s famous honey mustard chicken is slowly cooking in my little oven, filling the house with a delicious, comforting scent. Pretty soon I’ll start the brown rice and later I’ll steam some broccoli. Megan and Rob are coming over for dinner tonight. Maybe there’s something about a disaster that makes you want to keep your loved ones close. I feel lucky that we are all safe, but my heart aches for the people of Japan. Our thoughts are with them.

*I recently joined a local Listserv for announcements, and it’s been quite useful so far. Weather warnings, an armed fugitive in the village (he was caught)…things like that. News you can use!

Yesterday, Rob and I car pooled to town together. It was so fun!

Unlike most Americans, I hate to drive, so I was happy to hand over the wheel. I’ve always wanted a chauffeur*. And Rob makes interesting company. We also brought Star along for the ride. Sometimes she stayed in the back seat, and sometimes she didn’t.

We stopped off briefly so Rob could express plant some daffodils he found in the wilds of my garden at the front of my brother’s property. Rob has landscaped it nicely there, with the pointy bush from their garden, crocuses, and now the daffodils. I’m pleased to say that my tulips are coming along nicely.

Rob had a ceramics class in the morning and an appointment in the afternoon at 4:00. So just in case he couldn’t get home in time to return the car to Megan at 5:00, when she leaves for work, we decided to share my car. Those of you who are wondering why he didn’t take his trusty truck don’t live where gas is $3.79 a gallon and have a truck which gets about 5 miles to the gallon.

We arranged to meet up at Monica’s store (conveniently located a block away) at 4:30. I ended up leaving work at about 4:15, having successfully labeled, stamped, stuffed, and sealed 500 envelopes. There was no way I was leaving work until I had wrestled them into submission. You haven’t lived until you’ve processed 500 envelopes. Or maybe you’ve died and gone to hell.

As I approached the corner, Rob pulled up beside me. Perfect timing and curbside service. What’s not to love?

*All those Hollywood starlets who keep getting arrested for DUI? I can never understand why they don’t have chauffeurs. Talk about a sensible luxury!

On Sunday, my family and I finally had dinner together. It’s been a long time. We cancelled Thanksgiving, Jonathan couldn’t make it for Christmas, and somehow we’ve slipped into the new year without dining en famille. It’s been harder than ever to make our schedules match up since I started the jobette. So it was about time.

I made a salad and a new recipe: Spaghetti with Fresh Sopprassata. Apparently actual sopprassata is a kind of cured sausage, like salami, but this is an uncured, fresh version. Note that you need to start it the night before. I did an excellent job of misreading the recipe (or not reading it carefully enough), so I missed that part, and instead put it together in the morning, which is not the time you want to smell wine. Especially cheap Gallo wine bought for the purpose of cooking. I also missed the “extra can of crushed tomatoes” part, necessitating a trip to my sister’s pantry (fortunately, not the store, which is several miles away).

So, you have been warned. Here we go:

Spaghetti with Fresh Soppressata

4 garlic cloves
1 1/3 cups dry white wine
1 pound sweet Italian sausage, casings removed (I used turkey instead of pork, and if you like it spicy, you could use hot sausage instead)
1 teaspoon fennel seed
1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper (or more, for the spicy-minded)
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 small carrot, finely chopped
1 celery rib, finely chopped
One 28-ounce can plus one 14-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes, crushed, with their liquid
Salt
1 pound spaghetti
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1/4 cup chopped basil
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

In a blender, puree the garlic, fennel, and peppers with 1/3 cup of the white wine. Transfer the mixture to a medium bowl. Add the sausage and knead lightly to combine. Cover with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

In a large, deep skillet, heat the olive oil. Add the sausage mixture, onion, carrot and celery and cook over medium heat breaking up lumps with a spoon, until lightly browned, 6 to 7 minutes. Add the remaining 1 cup of wine and cook, scraping up any browned bits, until nearly evaporated, about 5 minutes. Add the crushed tomatoes and their juices to the pan and season lightly with salt. Simmer over low heat, stirring occasionally, until thickened and reduced to about 5 cups, about 40 minutes.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the spaghetti until just al dente. Drain, add the pasta to the sauce and toss with the grated cheese, basil and parsley.Toss the pasta over moderately high heat, until nicely coated, about 2 minutes. Serve immediately.

It turned out great and there wasn’t much left, although the recipe is supposed to serve 6. The perfect ending to the meal was one of Megan’s famous huckleberry pies. It’s worth having temporarily black teeth to eat one.

We had such a good time that we have promised each other to get together for dinner more often. Is it too late to make a new year’s resolution?

Hey! I just found something else I can’t do: bake cookies!

Notice that I didn’t say “make” cookies. My incompetence is even more impressive when you take into account that I was merely cutting pieces off logs of dough (made by my sister), applying them to a baking sheet, and putting them into the already heated oven.

Now you’re impressed, aren’t you?

The results were uniformly poor, though not in a uniform way. In fact, I should probably get extra credit for finding so many ways to make bad cookies. Some were discouragingly flat; others were lumpy; some were resolutely doughy in the center, while others were burned around the edges. Some were a winning combo of burned on the bottom while doughy in the middle. Some of them melted together during baking, so when I separated them, they had the odd look of having already been half eaten. Neatly eaten, but eaten all the same.

None of these beauty pageant problems would have really mattered to the exasperated bakers if we weren’t supposed to sell the damn things. Looking at the pitiful parade of cookies, it was pretty obvious that our only potential market was sugar-deprived elementary school students.

But it was a confectionery emergency. The cookies were to be sold at today’s Purge Party*, the annual fundraiser for Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue. Someone had promised to make 150 cookies for the sale, then backed out at the last minute, making it Megan’s problem. And I do mean problem.

I suggested that we make Rice Krispie treats. Although Megan objected that she had never made them, I assured her it was easy. So she raced down to the store, five bumpy miles each way, while I tended to the last batches of the saddest cookies in town.

She returned triumphant with shockingly expensive Rice Krispies ($7 a box, anyone?) marshmallows, and colorful sprinkles to make the finished product more festive. They turned out to be Suzy proof, and the day was saved. We also have enough unattractive cookies for the rest of our lives. Bonus!

*I can’t help it, but every time I hear this I picture a bunch of bulimics with balloons and noisemakers. It’s entirely possible that I will never grow up.

While I was getting a new job and falling off a log (amazingly, the Horror Hand still hurts, though it has deflated), Jonathan and Rob were making a windmill.

Yes, making it. Mostly out of spare parts and found things, as is the Way of Rob. It’s seated firmly in cement, set three feet deep into the ground.

The welder came in handy when they welded the hinges and attached the pole they used to raise it. It’s about 20 feet high, and there are plans afoot to make it even higher and take advantage of the wind that is supposed to be up there. The sunny weather continues, and needless to say, the wind has been uncooperatively calm lately.

But when it starts up again, my brother will have an extra power source in addition to the solar panels. If it gets too windy, they can tilt the windmill’s blades back and fasten them there so there isn’t too much strain on it. All in all, a great design and a great job. I have to admit I’m kind of in awe of their abilities and ingenuity.

A during her modeling years

My friend A is a remarkable, accomplished woman. I’ve been lucky enough to know her since we were seventeen.

She was born in China, and her family fled to Canada to escape the Cultural Revolution (her uncle, if I remember correctly, was Deng Xiao Ping). In Canada, she learned to speak English and French, and in her twenties, became an international model, working for some of the most prestigious agencies in the world and gracing magazine covers. I still remember walking into Harrods and being surprised by huge banners bearing her face in a campaign for Shiseido cosmetics.

As models often do, she fell in love with a photographer. Her particular photographer, C, is from Amsterdam, and that’s where they settled, buying a 17th century house in the heart of the red light district. It is remarkably quiet in their house, which looks out over a music conservatory and the old part of the city. They have lived there ever since they married, 25 years ago, A wearing Comme des Garçons (to her mother’s horror: “Brides shouldn’t wear black!”).

As models don’t often do, A went back to school and received a PhD in pure math (in her fourth language, Dutch). She is currently a vice president at Barclays Capital in London, though they retain their Amsterdam home and go home as often as they can.

C sent me an email a few days ago, telling me that A had a flu which morphed into pneumonia and then got so bad that she has been in Intensive Care for five days. She’s on dialysis and is in a medical coma. Apparently the dehydration of the flu caused strain on her kidneys and in turn, her heart. C and I have been in touch every day, and I hope all my readers will join in me in sending A and C our best wishes for a speedy recovery.

Once again, I am thankful for my sister, who has spent more time on the phone with C than I have, explaining medical jargon and what is happening to A at the hospital. After yesterday’s call, I walked home in the rain, feeling so lucky that I can I breathe on my own, and walk, and talk. I found my brother at my house, and I updated him. As we hugged goodbye, I felt so grateful to have my family close by and know that they are always there for me and the people we love, no matter how far away.

I can’t believe that I haven’t told you yet about the Conspiracy Christmas Present I gave Megan.

In October, we were walking the dogs at Big River when Megan said she wished she could afford a professional photo of Schatzi before she gets old and infirm – the Schatz is 11 years old now, and just beginning to show signs of wear. I filed this away in my mental filing cabinet, which is dusty and overflowing with ridiculous things like 1970s radio songs, the difference between carat and karat, and the names of Ava Gardner’s husbands, so it took me a little while to act on it.

This little corner of the world is allegedly home to more artists per capita than anywhere else in this great country, so it’s not surprising that just the person was close at hand. Gerri created the logo for Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue, and has been a tireless photographer at fundraising events. I asked her if she could find time to photograph Schatzi, and we figured out a time right before Thanksgiving.

Lu was going to be away then, visiting family, so I asked if I could use her garden. Lu agreed, and alerted her dog sitters. Rob stole Schatzi while Megan was sleeping, and met Gerri and me at Lu’s house. It takes a village!

We spent over an hour taking photos, and you can see the best of them here.

A month was a long time to wait for Megan to open the present, and both Lu and I almost let it slip a couple of times. There really is nothing as good as giving someone the perfect present and seeing their happiness.

I gave them to Megan on a disk, so she could decide which was her favorite and then frame it. So far, she hasn’t been able to decide. Can you?

Kitten proof Christmas tree!

Yesterday morning, I heard the pantry door close and went to investigate. It was around 8:00 in the morning, so I figured it was Rob. But it was Megan, bearing bags of Christmas groceries. We divided up the list on Monday, and on Tuesday I braved the crowds to get my part on a day when all the other shoppers appeared to have had their brains removed or somehow become zombies while simultaneously equipping themselves with an outsize number of screaming kids. Megan shopped at 6:30 in the morning, when there are few shoppers, but the shelves are being stocked and there are huge carts and stockers everywhere you want to be. Also she was shopping after twelve hours of work.

I think I know who had the worse shopping experience.

While I was decanting bags in the pantry and feeding the cats, Megan put the gel tree you see above on the sliding glass doors in the living room to surprise me. “Now you finally have a tree the cats can’t mess with,” she said.

I have the best sister ever.

In the spirit of Doing Things Ahead, which I firmly believe is the key to surviving the holidays with a modicum of sanity left, I made Thursday night’s turkey chili on Wednesday (chili is always better the next day) and am starting the lengthy process of Christmas Eve’s parsnip vichyssoise today. We have had this soup for Christmas Eve dinner for many years, going way back to the halcyon days when Dad spent every other Christmas with us. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

Parsnip Vichyssoise

2 large leeks, white part only, halved lengthwise and sliced crosswise, 1/2 inch thick
2 & 1/2 pounds parsnips, peeled and cut into two inch chunks
3 medium boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into two inch chunks
8 garlic gloves, peeled and lightly crushed
1 onion, halved and sliced thinly
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
6 cups chicken broth
4 ounces butter, cut into small pieces
3/4 cup fresh lemon juice
3 cups milk
2 cups cream (I use half and half)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
12 whole chives, plus 2 tablespoons, snipped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large, shallow roasting pan, combine the leeks, parsnips, potatoes, garlic, and onion. Sprinkle with cardamom and brown sugar and stir to combine. Pour two cups of stock over the vegetables and dot with the butter. Cover tightly with foil and bake for two hours, until the vegetables are very tender, stirring occasionally during cooking.

Transfer the vegetables and any liquid to a large saucepan. Add the remaining 4 cups of stock and the lemon juice. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Working in small batches, transfer the vegetables and liquid to food processor and puree until smooth (I like it a little chunky). The soup can be prepared to this point up to two days ahead. Let cool, cover, and refrigerate. It may be necessary to thin the soup with a little stock before reheating.

To finish the soup, add the milk and cream and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until warmed through. Do not boil. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve with whole chives and snipped chives for garnish.

If, as Lewis Carroll says, there are 364 days a year to receive un-birthday presents, the same goes for un-Christmas presents. And they may be even more delightful.

Rob has been taking a ceramics course a couple of nights a week, a birthday present from our thoughtful Erica. So my unbirthday presents arose from a birthday present.

Exhibit A is this bowl:

He molded it from cabbage leaves, fired it, and glazed it with both green and blue:

I know I could eat a salad out of it, or even cabbage, but so far, it remains an objet d’art on the shelf above my sofa, along with this beautiful little box:

I thought Rob made the texture by pressing grass into the clay, but he actually achieved this bucolic effect by wrapping an empty plastic bottle with crinkled plastic wrap. However he got there, I love the look and shape of it. It also happens to look perfect with a string of hand-carved amethyst beads:

On a more practical note, while still being both decorative and delightful, Erica made me a hat. Which doubles as a scarf/neckwarmer:

I can wrap it around my head, kerchief style, and button it in place so my hair sort of cascades out the back. Or I can wear it around my neck. It’s incredibly soft and luxurious, and comforting to wear inside my drafty house or outside in the wind.

I’m so lucky to have such great friends. And speaking of friends: Paul arrives tomorrow!

Well, the meatloaf was a big hit. “Three thumbs up” from my sister. I’m definitely adding it to my repertoire.

Last night’s dinner featured a guest star, our brother. He usually has fire meetings on Thursdays, but decided to duck out on this one to have dinner with us and bring us up to date on the firehouse gossip, or as he calls it, “As the Hose Blows”. There’s a surprising amount of drama in a small town. He also brought banana bread for dessert, and I couldn’t stop laughing when I realized that dinner and dessert looked nearly identical.

I’m easily amused that way. I also laugh for miles after seeing the dairy company Clover Stornetta’s billboards on my way through Santa Rosa. My favorite is a cow dressed up like Dirty Harry with the slogan “Clo ahead, milk my day”. And I don’t even like milk.

Speaking of not liking things, the meatloaf did a great job of dealing with all the phood phobias, though it did contain an egg and I never told them that I put in Heinz chili sauce instead of ketchup, which they don’t like. I’d like to mention here that Rob is not at all picky and would cheerfully eat any and all of the food outlawed by his in-laws.

Old Fashioned Meatloaf, Suzy Style

Half a large onion
3 garlic cloves
1 stalk celery
4 green onions
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce (I used a little more)
2/3 cup ketchup (I used chili sauce instead)
1 pound ground turkey
1 pound turkey sausage, casings removed
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1 egg, beaten
1/3 cup parsley leaves (stolen from my sister’s garden)

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

The original recipe says to mince the vegetables. I threw then all in a food processor so they were finely chopped, then sautéed them for about ten minutes. The recipe says to use 2 tablespoons of butter for this (!), but I just sprayed the pan with Pam and it was fine.

Stir in salt and pepper, Worcestershire sauce, and 1/3 cup ketchup, and cook, stirring, for one minute.

I let the veggie mixture cool while beating the egg with a whisk in a large bowl. Then I mixed the meat into it (note: the recipe calls for 1 & 1/2 pounds of ground chuck and 3/4 pound of ground pork). I ran the bread and parsley together in the food processor and then tossed that in the bowl, along with the cooled vegetable mixture I mixed it together with my hands, but you could use a big spoon instead.

I would have put the other 1/3 cup of chili sauce on top if the food police hadn’t been there. I packed it all into a loaf pan and covered it with foil for half an hour, leaving it uncovered for the remaining half hour of cooking time.

We had mashed Yukon Gold potatoes and steamed green beans with it, and it was just the thing on a cold, rainy evening. When I walked home, I was happy to see the warm lights of my house glowing through the dark, rainy trees, and the balcony Christmas lights were an added pleasure. I stood there in the rain for a minute, enjoying the bright colors in the darkness.

Mushrooms and art in my garden

Mushrooms are as much a sign of winter around here as the appearance of robins. The poor saps come here for the winter, if you can believe it. The wiser whales, however, have already begun their majestic migration to Mexico. Guess which species has the bigger brain?

Today I tested the waterproofness of my new sneakers by sneaking over to my sister’s place in the rain. I pulled my hat down over my forehead and zipped my jacket up to my ears. Halfway there, I realized that I was not carrying an umbrella. Am I turning into a country girl? Oh, the humanity!

At Megan’s, I went in through the garden gate and slinked over to the parsley section, where I picked as much as I needed for tonight’s dinner. The fresh smell of parsley was delightful in the rain-washed air. Back home, undetected, I went in through the laundry/pantry/cat diningroom door. The floor there is cement, and equipped with a drain, making it useful when the cats spill their water (a nearly daily occurrence). I recently moved the coat tree in there, too, so I had a place to hang up my wet things and slip into slippers.

Tonight, I’m attempting meatloaf for the first time I can remember. I’ll use ground turkey, since none of us eats beef*, and hope for the best. I’ll also make mashed potatoes and green beans for the full Mad Men era effect. If only I had the long-suffering Carla to clean up after me!

*It’s not easy to come up with a dinner once a week for 4 or 5 people who are picky eaters. Outlawed foods include beef, pork, lamb, fish, eggs, mustard, raisins, yogurt, mayonnaise, and others too numerous to mention. Making us – or attempting to make us – eat everything on our plates when we were kids seems to have backfired.

Friday sunrise

Those of you who were perturbed to hear about our non-Thanksgiving will be happy to hear that we had dinner with a friend on Friday night. No turkeys were harmed in the production of this dinner.

Our friend/nephew Jarrett lives about a four hour drive from Hooterville. We have known him since he was four years old or so, back when he and his mother and my brother and sister lived on boats at Pier 39 in San Francisco. When Jarrett was in high school, he was having a difficult time in the city, so he came up here and lived with my brother and sister in turns while he finished school, much as Megan lived with me for her last couple of years of high school.

That kind of thing creates a special, parent-esque bond, even for the most unmaternal of us, so Jarrett is part of the family.

He drove down on Friday, while Megan and I did a quick shop for groceries, along with some early Christmas stocking items. We put a pork roast in my tiny oven, and later added potatoes, parsnips, and carrots. One dish dinner! It also gave us time to catch up on each other’s news and drink wine, which is always good.

Jarrett brought a recipe for Dutch apple pie with a parmesan crust*, which he and Megan made at her house, my oven being fully occupied. As you can see, it looks delicious:

Megan used brown sugar instead of white, and much, much less of it, and skipped the raisins, which she hates. Recipes, after all, are just a suggestion.

*You can find the recipe here.

Through the woods, if not over the river

How’s this for going rogue? We are skipping Thanksgiving!

Yes, on the busiest travel day of the year, when others were braving the fearsome pat-downs and the arrivals of in-laws, I just worked, walked on the haul road (above), and tried to stay warm on the coldest November 24 since 1892 (at least in San Francisco). No worries about cooking or blown diets or difficult guests.

It just kind of happened. Our brother is out of town, Lichen is camping in the Everglades, Erica is sick of driving Jessica to Hooterville every day to go to school, Megan is coming off her third night shift, and basically, none of us were feeling it.

So tonight – well, later on today – I’m making Thai chicken coconut soup for Thursday night dinner. Something new!

Welcome Home!

Note: Looks like the Doc fixed the comments. So comment away! Don’t be shy!

My last morning in San Francisco was nothing but a foodapalooza. I started out with breakfast at Polker’s, where I had eggs scrambled with fresh herbs, zucchini, and tomatoes, and enjoyed the parade of passers-by. I walked back to the motel in the sunshine, packed up the car, and headed back to Polk Street. First stop was Bob’s Doughnuts, with its perennially cheerful cashier, and next was Victor’s, where I picked up Thursday Night Dinner. Not exactly new, but the first time we’ve had it this year.

The last stop was the gas station, where it cost $41 to fill the car. Gas in the big city is $3.31 a gallon, instead of the relatively modest $3.03 in Fort Bragg. Good thing I can expense it.

I set off across the familiar Golden Gate Bridge, feeling a pang as always as the dreaming spires of San Francisco dwindled in the rearview mirror. I don’t think I’ll ever really feel that it’s not home.

I stopped off at Gowan’s fruit and vegetable stand. Here you can see some of their many apple trees:

This is the view across the road. I love the rolling hills and the live oaks.

When I got home, the cats were definitely happy to see me, even though Rob and Megan had spent time with them and petted them while I was gone. They have all slept with me every night since. This morning, I woke up to Roscoe sleeping against my chest (I sleep on my side, and he stretches out full length along my body), Clyde curled around my head with his head on my ear, and Audrey at my feet. I love hearing them purr until they fall asleep. The purr gets slower, then patchy, then there’s a big sigh and it’s dreamtime.

On Sunday, Megan and I got our chores out of the way in the morning, and then she came over to my house for a fun, girlie afternoon.

First, we put a load of her laundry in, and made ribollita soup for that night’s dinner. As usual, we had the ingredients between us, and as it simmered away, we watched “Sex and the City 2” and did our nails. We enjoyed it as much as we did when we saw it at the theater in the summer. It’s been a not great year with not great weather, and neither of us can remember the last time we actually went on vacation or even left the state*, so we need all the escapism we can get.

People have been asking me where the Thursday night dinner recipes are. The sad truth is that I haven’t made anything new recently. So this week, I have vowed to make something new. I have a couple of ideas in mind, but suggestions and recipes are always welcome!

*With only one month left to go this year, I have gone to San Francisco exactly once, for one night. And that’s the only non-Hooterville place I have been this year. You can see why I’m planning to let my passport expire for the first time in my entire life, including childhood. You don’t need one when you never go anywhere or do anything. $100 is a lot to pay for wishful thinking.