Suzy Says

Megan and I caught up with our good friend Lu before she and her boyfriend Rik took off for Central America for three weeks. Rik and Lu are both EMTs, and most years, they go on a mission of mercy to Honduras to provide medical care to villagers living in rural areas with no doctors or hospitals. This year, they decided to take a vacation instead, though they will also look in on their patients, make sure the ambulance is still running, and check on supplies. I am in awe of their courage and commitment.

We met up at the bookstore, which has a stunning view:

And its own resident cat, the Great Catsby, who was resting up from the exhaustion of dealing with his adoring public (not seen in the picture: a sparkly fuchsia mouse tucked next to his magnificent fur, like a teddy bear for cats):

Lu ordered some books, which will await her return, and I made a mental note of some small gifts for Jessica’s Christmas stocking. I know it seems early, but it’s already September, so the festive season starting with the County Fair (in a couple of weeks), then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, has already begun. The Naked Ladies flaunting their pink loveliness by the side of the road tell me that fall has arrived.

We peeked into the pub through its heavy velvet door draperies, and discovered that it was too crowded for us to have dinner, as we expected, so we went to our usual spot, where we scored a table by an open window and admired the artwork on display:

It looks like something Rob would make.

The play was “The Normal Heart”, a moving piece about the early days of HIV/AIDS, when no-one knew what it was, what caused it, how it was spread, and it basically seemed like a huge and sudden plague. Living in San Francisco, I remember this all too well and the many we lost. This lovely remembrance blackboard was in the lobby, and the audience was invited to add their own lost loved ones:

The lobby also boasts a tiny, yet surprisingly well-stocked bar, and a creative bartender who creates a signature drink for each production. This one was Pride Punch: vodka and triple sec shaken with ice, poured into a glass, and then cranberry juice poured slowly over a spoon until the drink blushes:

I said, “Come for the drinks, stay for the play,” and the bartender said that there are many people who do come there just for the drinks. I stored this valuable information away for future reference.

A YEAR AGO: Little Miss Lupe, my workout partner, came into my life. Also the MacBook I’m merrily typing away on. Sometimes it seems like September really is the new year, just like when you’re a kid.

I had my filling replaced last week. It was about as unpleasant as you’d expect, though the old silver (really more grey or black looking) filling has been replaced by an almost invisible tooth colored one. With all the strides in medical and dental technology, you’d think they would have found a way to decrease or do away with the high pitched noises and make-up destroying water sprays, but apparently not. I still kind of wish they could just knock you out, like they do for dogs undergoing any kind of dental procedure*. Ignorance (or least unconsciousness) can be bliss.

At least the freezing wore off in time for me to join some friends for a glass or two of local wine at a soiree at a historic inn, which just happens to be on my way home. Of course, it also happened to be the only day this week that I wasn’t marooned behind several slow-moving cars, so I was almost regretful as I turned off the beautifully empty highway.

The regret wore off as I was warmly greeted by my friends, who were standing near the Audubon-certified golf course. It’s nice to know that something as man-made and man-centric as a golf course can still be respectful of the wildlife in the area. And there can’t be too many ocean-view golf courses. The Inn itself hosted James Dean when he was here filming “East of Eden” and horrifying the current inn owner’s grandfather with his shocking language, t-shirts, and putting his booted feet on the bar.

*We also keep people alive way longer and in more horrible circumstances than we do our pets. Not sure exactly what to make of this.

A YEAR AGO: A door to door tree delivery. Yes, you read that right. A tree.

I came home from a long day at work (is there any other kind?) to find that the Bowflex fairy had stopped by my house:

The BF had thoughtfully adorned the machine with a sparkly purple bow, so you know who it was: Erica, who knows my love of all things sparkly. I was delighted by its arrival and sorry that I had missed the Dynamic Duo and their fabulousness. They were unable to attend Kalli’s annual birthday party in July, so it’s been far too long since I have seen them. I must remedy this soon. Look how gorgeous they are:

Erica also provided a manual, so Megan and I are going to help each other figure it out. We can Bowflex on Sundays, which will change things up from my working week routine of using the treadmill while watching “Bewitched” with Mark’s dog Lupe:

Everyone needs a workout buddy.

A YEAR AGO: Back home from a trip to the City.

Kalli’s birthday camping party has become an annual tradition, and a delightful one, too.

Kalli, Jarrett, and an entourage of their many friends convened at the family property on a recent Saturday. Megan and I were a little concerned about the head count of 30 or more, but we needn’t have worried. They arrived with a keg of beer and coolers full of food. Jonathan made 10 pounds of pulled pork, and I made a more modest quantity of chicken filling for the evening’s taco dinner.

We were lucky to have any chicken filling at all. I got up early on Saturday, did a few loads of laundry, and set the chicken to cook in the slow cooker. A couple of hours later, I went to check on it and discovered that it was ice cold. As in, the chicken was still frozen. I tried unplugging the slow cooker and plugging it back in again – pretty much the limits of my expertise with any form of technology – and it still didn’t work.

I took the whole thing, chicken and all, over my brother’s place. We put the chicken into our friend Lu’s crockpot, which she had lent to him a couple of weeks earlier, and I took it back to my place while Jonathan dismantled mine. Spoiler alert: the heating element had met an untimely demise, taking the rest of the slow cooker with it. So much for that. The good news is that I managed to get the chicken filling done on time.

Meanwhile, tents were merrily growing in the garden:

And the tents’ occupants were playing beer pong. They soon discovered that the drinking part of the game didn’t work so well in the pygmy puff dust, so it became more of a game of skill while drinking the beer in your hand.

We had some visiting dogs, including a darling little spotted brother and sister rescued from under a house a couple of months earlier. Lucky, the sister, was a little unsure about all the unknown people and found a safe spot:

I’m not usually one for small dogs, but they were so cute and really warmed up to the attention as the party went on. Another of Jarrett’s friends had recently traded in a problematic girlfriend for the adorable Atticus:

Definitely an upgrade.

Kalli thoughtfully provided Party Survival Kits:

These included provisions like Band-Aids, sunscreen, a toothbrush, condoms, gum, disinfectant wipes, and other things you might need when camping in the middle of nowhere with some of your best friends.

We had a great BBQ despite the near kitchen emergency, and in the morning Jarrett made bacon, eggs, and home fries on the outdoor gas stove (if you can call it that – it’s two rings hooked up to a small tank of propane, last seen in Erica’s al fresco samosa frying at Junapalooza). Then the visitors set off home, with more happy memories and plans for next year.

A YEAR AGO: The joys of faux pho. And the sadness of memory.

For those of you who deciphered the mysterious runes above and are wondering what the piano reference is all about: When Jessica was very young, she visited a friend who had a piano at her house. Jessica was enchanted, and when she got home, asked her mother to make her one. Erica said that she couldn’t make a piano. Jessica was stunned. This was the first time in her life she had asked her mother to make something and she couldn’t. As far as I know, a piano is still just about the only thing Erica can’t make.

A YEAR AGO: Farewell, electric lime green bathroom floor! I think I’ll miss you least of all.

Jessica in a shawl made by her mother

Erica and I are almost birthday twins, with mine being the day before hers, though come to think of it, several years ahead, too. So maybe we aren’t birthday twins, but we decided to celebrate our June birthdays together with a Junapalooza at the family property on Saturday.

I’m both pleased and embarrassed to report that I didn’t do a thing but show up. In my defense, though, I’m the only one who works at least five days a week (and complains eight days a week about it), and Erica actually enjoys cooking (it’s become a tyrannical chore for me. See the five days a week thing). Sometimes I picture her cackling over her cauldron like a fairytale character.

Erica’s fairytale basket was filled with scented dal and chutney made from her own figs and quinces. She also brought a deeply chocolatey three layer cake covered with Swiss buttercream and sprinkles, which, as Erica said, tasted exactly like ice cream, so it was like having cake and ice cream all at once.

As if that weren’t enough, she also bought a flask of high quality gin, a bottle of pink grapefruit juice, and a jar of handmade lavender syrup, which were all whirled into delightful pink cocktails with the addition of ice:

For those of you who want to try making your own lavender syrup at home, be careful to only put in the flowers, since the stems can make the syrup bitter. Other than that, it’s just water and sugar. We need to come up with a name for this delightful confection. It’s the perfect thing for a summer evening.

When Lichen appeared, he brought his own libation ingredients. He set to work zesting limes (he brought his own zester), and made frozen strawberry margaritas, the glasses rimmed with sea salt, which he also brought. We could drink pink as well as think pink*!

The pink theme continued with a raspberry pie made from raspberries grown on the property and picked that very day, which may be why it was mostly demolished before I got a photo opp:

The pie and cake were preceded by the dal and chutney, as well as butter chicken. Jonathan grilled the chicken on the BBQ before putting it in the sauce Megan made. We also had forbidden rice and Megan’s home-made naan with cilantro and shallots. The garlic and onions in the butter chicken sauce came from the property, as did the cilantro and shallots in the naan. It was all delicious, and it was nice to sit by the fire and talk after dinner, replete with deliciousness.

Jessica and I fantasized about an alternate reality, in which we lived in a mansion within walking distance of a charming village with bookstores, cafes, chocolatier, patisserie, cheese shop, charcuterie, and other essentials. The village would be far enough away that we couldn’t see it or hear it, but we wouldn’t have to drive there. Rain would be “plentiful”, as Jessica put it, and there would occasionally be snow, enough to make snowmen and play in. It would never be hotter than 85 degrees F (Erica and Jessica had just suffered through a day of 104 degree heat – and baked a cake in it). Erica would be the chatelaine and run everything. It would be heavenly! A girl can dream.

A YEAR AGO: Around the house.

*I was shocked to learn that Erica and Jessica hadn’t seen Funny Face, starring Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn, with Kay Thompson, the immortal author of the immortal Eloise books (how I love them!) as a Diana Vreeland character admonishing everyone to “Think pink!” It also has some of the first supermodels from the days when they were stunning: Suzy Parker, Dovima, Sunny Harnett. I think a communal viewing is in order, pink drinks non-optional.

I had a lovely Saturday.

I started the day off with a return visit to Angelika’s little salon in the big woods, where she brightened my hair and my outlook, and trimmed off another couple of inches. As usual, I left feeling happy in my outer and inner selves. Who needs a therapist when you have an Angel(ika)?

My friend Erin was working at a rummage sale to benefit her son’s school, which I pass on my way to Angelika’s, so I stopped in to say hello. I valiantly resisted the urge to buy more stuff – I should be getting rid of things, not accumulating them – and stayed and chatted for a while. We are hoping to get together for a drink and a gossip soon.

Megan had also had her hair cut and highlighted, and for once we actually had somewhere to go to show off our unaccustomed ‘dos: dinner and a play! First, though, we had to stop by the family property, where Megan went to feed Dave and Jennifer’s horses while they were out of town, and I took a stroll around the garden, nibbling sun warmed strawberries:

As we headed toward the Village, I told Megan that I had stopped in to see Jim a few days ago. This week marked the first anniversary of his husband’s death, and I was both surprised and pleased that he is doing so well. I admire his strength and courage. I also mentioned that I often see Siri, the gentleman who married Jim and Joel, at work since he conducts breathing skills classes there, and how wonderful he is.

Approaching the restaurant, who did we see but Siri! I introduced Megan and we had a lovely chat before joining our friends Lu and Rik for dinner.

After dinner, we headed over to the theater:

to see the play “Mauritius”, in which the cast of four tries to out con each other over two very valuable stamps. Who knew stamp collecting could be so dark and devious? The set was minimal but effective:

We were surprised and delighted to find our friend Lichen there, looking dapper. We are plotting a strawberry margarita extravaganza in his new kitchen (which I still haven’t seen) in the near future. I can’t wait!

A YEAR AGO: Roscoe is a little alarming.

Marco

Megan woke up after her fourth long night shift last week to find a series of texts from our dear friend Lu. Lu had taken her huge, sweet Rottweiler Marco to see Dr. Karen and discovered that he had the same cancer that claimed Lichen’s Rottweiler Padawan at this time of year a few years ago.

Marco’s cancer was so advanced that the bone in one of his legs was almost gone, unbeknownst to Lu and probably Marco, and had spread through his great chest, so it was clear that the time had come. As you may remember, Marco suddenly and inexplicably went blind three years ago, and I’m sure many people would have put him to sleep then. But Lu and Rik dabbed doorways and the location of his food and water bowls with different essential oils, so he could negotiate his way around the home he had lived in most of his life, and it worked well.

When Megan arrived at Lu and Rik’s house, Rik was giving Marco a warm bath in the outdoor clawfoot tub, a treat which Marco always loved. Tears were pouring down Rik’s face as Marco basked in the warm, soapy water. He enjoyed a towel dry before settling down in front of the heater, surrounded by family and friends. Dr. Karen’s dedicated staff made one last house call, making Marco’s farewell as peaceful and comfortable as possible.

Poor Harlow, his little sister (she and Marco can be seen together here), was very sad. Her forehead was wrinkled all evening, and she sniffed him carefully. At least she knew what happened – I would think it would be much harder for Harlow if Marco just disappeared one day. Hopefully she will adjust, along with Lu and Rik, but Marco leaves a big hole in our lives. He may have been 137 pounds, but the biggest thing about him was his heart.

Marco was too big to bury, so he was cremated. There is a local glassmaker who will make the ashes into a special piece of glasswork, so Marco will always be with the people who loved him. Sleep well, gentle giant. You are loved and missed.

A YEAR AGO: The other side of the circle of life, celebrating Jessica’s 11th birthday.

Birthday Girl

As you know, Jessica’s twelfth birthday was April 15, but we celebrated it a couple of days later, on a Saturday – about the only day of the week we can all get together now. And celebrate it we did! We started off by meeting at Franny’s Cup & Saucer in beautiful downtown Point Arena. Jonathan joined us, adding an uncle to the auntourage, and there wasn’t enough room in Franny’s teacup sized establishment to fit us all at once as we perused the pastries and chocolates in the glass case.

Eventually, we repaired with our choices to the bench outside and shared them while chatting. I observed to Jessica that she wouldn’t want to do this kind of thing much longer since she was growing up, and she replied “Hormones don’t make you stupid!” Thinking of some beaux in my distant past, I said, “Oh yes, they do, “ and she said, “Not that stupid! You will always be fabulous!” accompanied by a hug.

We had enough time to stop by the pier at Point Arena and watch the surfers skimming over the waves:

I was amazed by their skill in maneuvering through the rough waters and avoiding the many jagged rocks in the bay.

We made our way to the B. Bryan Preserve, where we were joined by two fair sized groups. It soon became clear that this was a much fancier deal than it was nearly two years ago, when Megan and I had our magical safari together: just us and Frank, the curmudgeonly guide. I’m glad for their success, but I’m also glad that Megan and I have that special enchanted memory together.

After the mini talk about the Preserve’s mission to save and breed these beautiful, endangered animals, we loaded into a 1967 Range Rover, equipped with a canvas roof and apparently not equipped with shocks, which were plenty as we jounced over the rough terrain.

Unlike our earlier trip, we stayed in the Range Rover for most of the tour, though we also drove right into the vast, fenced fields where the zebra and antelope played. Also unlike last time, when Frank admonished us that this wasn’t a petting zoo (it still isn’t), we could actually pet a few month old Grevy’s zebra, little Karen Sue:

Her mother died giving birth to her, and Karen Sue was saved by none other than our dear vet, Dr. Karen – hence her name. Since Karen Sue was hand raised, you can pet her, but those days will end when she joins the regular herd in the next few months. So this was a special treat. And those teddy bear ears are as soft as they look. I imagine I am one of the very few people who has stroked a live Grevy’s zebra.

We ended at the Rothschild giraffes, where Sonny, Buster and Jagger (my favorite from last time) have been joined by two more brothers. In fact, Frank was on his way to pick up the “new” boys after our last tour. Like Megan and me, Jessica was charmed by feeding the giraffes. There really is nothing like seeing one swooping down toward you, their huge, soulful eyes, fake looking lashes, and black tongues. You really haven’t lived until you’ve kissed a giraffe.

At the end of the tour, Jessica pronounced it “Totally awesome” while jumping up and down. We then headed to Anchor Bay, where some of the best Thai food ever is to be found and enjoyed. Just like the Preserve, Megan and I were the only ones in our party to have been there before, and we couldn’t wait to share its joys.

Just like the Preserve, everyone was delighted and impressed. We shared our dishes and still had enough to take home and enjoy another night. We kissed Erica and Jessica goodbye and headed home as the sun set over the glorious Pacific. The immortal Lou Reed put it best when he sang, “Oh, it’s such a perfect day/I’m glad I spent it with you.”

A YEAR AGO: Meetings and manicures.

I’ve been quite the cultural maven lately.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Megan and I enjoyed a breathtaking performance of A Streetcar Named Desire, beamed all the way from London to our little corner of the world. And just a couple of days ago, Megan and I met up with Lu and Jennifer for dinner and a play. So sophisticated!

We picked Jennifer up at the property, where she and Dave are hopefully going to start building their home this year, and headed to the Village, where we met up with Lu. We ordered a pizza, salad, and a bottle of local wine and headed upstairs to grab a table under the cozy eaves while dinner was being made.

It was nice to laugh and talk as we shared dinner. I had thought we’d given ourselves way too much time, but before we knew it, it was time to head to the theater. We took our seats in the second row and prepared to enjoy the classic Gaslight. As soon as the lights went down and the play started, we were caught up in the magic and the drama, and we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

There were some differences between the movie, starring Ingrid Bergman and the evilly suave Charles Boyer, and the play, but I was the only one in our group who had seen the movie, so I was alone in my dramatic mental comparing and contrasting. I think the theater did very well with a minimal set:

and a minimal cast, including the actor who played the father in Other Desert Cities and now played the Inspector who rescues the damsel in distress. This year’s season also includes performances of Mauritius and The Normal Heart, which we would all like to see, so there are other lovely evenings in my future.

A YEAR AGO: Playing with Stella on the beach.

As I mentioned, there were photos of Me in the care package John sent after Ramona’s death, and I thought I’d share some with you.

Here I am with my mother’s father, Hoho, at what seems to be one of my very first Christmases. That’s a photo of Mom with her cat Smokey on the shelf beside us:

Nana and Hoho had their Christmas tree in the front parlor, which had 7 foot high windows and a beautiful fireplace. I recently made the mistake of stalking the house on line, and discovered that egregious renovations had been done to its Victorian magnificence, but the beautiful fireplace remains*.

This time, Daddy’s Daddy is holding a fancily dressed me:

For some reason, I seem to think that this is my third birthday party. Daddy’s Daddy is looking at me like I’m from another planet. Maybe it’s my freakishly square, yet blobby head. I once told my Dad that I thought I was an ugly baby, and he responded matter of factly, “Yes, I felt quite sorry for you.” Side note: I bet that plant on the sideboard didn’t make it.

This is Jonathan and me at a house we rented in Kent before Megan was born:

Even then, we loved cats!

I’m in my early 20s here. I still love that hair! Even though it’s my natural color:

You might think I’m wearing jeans, but they are actually linen pants which I dyed. I’m looking up a profiterole recipe for Megan’s birthday.

My dear friend A, she of the near-fatal illness a few years ago, took this picture of me not far from her 17th century home in the red light district of Amsterdam:

We always had such a great time together. One of these days, I hope to get to London to visit her. A girl can dream. And remember the past with love.

*The attic also remains untouched. When I was a girl, Smokey’s bed was still up there, though Smokey himself was long gone.

A YEAR AGO: Clyde is a merry little outlaw.