Suzy Says

A beautiful day for a fair

First things first: happy birthday to Rob! He stopped by this morning and when I wished him happy birthday, he looked surprised. I hugged him and told him I was glad he was born. He took a couple of things to repair and vanished after he hugged me back.

We’ll have a birthday barbecue next weekend. This one was busy! As I write, Star is at her second Canine Good Citizenship class (she did great last week). And yesterday, Megan and I went swimming (more about that later) before we went to the county fair.

A quick review of my blog shows that I haven’t been since 2008, so it was about time. As you can see above, it was a beautiful day. Megan found a secret parking space, and off we went.

It was hard to decide what to do first, so we had some garlic fries while we walked around and scoped out the possibilities. We made a mental note of the sno cone truck for later:

They really are the most refreshing drink you can eat. Though, disappointingly, they did not have blue raspberry. Even though everyone knows that blue is the best flavor for anything frozen (other than margaritas).

Sno cone in hand, we went to admire the livestock and the kids who handle them. This little dappled cow with its freckled girl was my favorite:

Did you know? Cows are covered with a sort of pomade at these shows, which makes them look all shiny and pretty, but makes your hands instantly filthy and kind of gross. Worth it, though. Also, there were hand-washing stations everywhere.

I resisted the temptation to run my hands through these sheep’s curly fleece:

And I kind of had a crush on this handsome boy:

Ever wondered how to shear a sheep? Now’s your chance to learn how:

It was strange being in the building with all the fleece and hand-spun yarn and beautiful scarves and things without our Erica*. And not seeing any of her work entered for prizes (and winning them). But I got over it long enough to buy a hat, which turned out to have been made by a woman who lives about two miles away. She spun the wool herself, knitted it, adorned it with a unique abalone button, and voilà:

It was hard to believe I’d ever need that hat on a sunny day in the 80s, but I bet I will be glad I got it in a couple of months. And I got to meet a new neighbor!

Some apple (and cider) tasting later:

we were admiring quilts:

flower arrangements:

and some of the biggest pumpkins I’ve ever seen:

The day flew by. Suddenly, it was time to head home, full of fair food and happy memories. Until next year…

*We had a great chat today. They are definitely coming for Christmas. And Jessica loves her new school.

Welcome to Napa

So I actually left the county for a couple of days. My passport remains dusty and sad in a drawer, wondering what happened to our relationship. “You used to take me out all the time – now we never go anywhere. I hardly ever see you!” it reproaches me. I think it expires next year, and for the first time in my life, I may not renew it. Why spend $100 on something I never use?

It’s a good thing I have a GPS*, since I’m geographically and map challenged. To me, it looked like you went to Healdsburg and took a left and that was it, whereas in reality you have to go south of Petaluma (about 40 minutes from San Francisco) and then take a labyrinthine highway, where there is road work (see above). It took almost as long to get there as it does to get to the city.

Also, for some reason I thought I was going to Sonoma, not Napa. Sonoma has the biggest public plaza in California and the northernmost Mission of the string founded in the early 1800s, like the one that starred in “Vertigo”. Napa seems to be nothing but wineries and overpriced antique stores. If you’re not into daytime drinking or overpriced antiques ($85 rusted metal garden chair, anyone?) or $25 plates of pasta, there’s not a whole lot to do there in the oppressive inland heat. Oh, and visitor guides cost $5.

However, all this was more than redeemed by the reason for the trip: seeing the legendary Brian Wilson in concert:

I happened to walk by the theater the morning of the show, and caught the roadies unloading the equipment for the show:

The concert was held in a beautiful old movie theater:

It was a great show. From the first notes of “California Girls”, the crowd was on its feet and Brian held us in his spell.

It was worth the drive.

*Jill, the GPS voice, does not enjoy those wacky foreign names. It’s hilarious to hear her pronounce things like “Carneros” and “Embarcadero”.

Well, Erica and Jessica are settled in their new (to them), century-old house, merrily ordering delivery dinners. Jessica has already made friends with the kids on her block. It makes me happy to know she’s going to grow up like Ramona the Pest, in a happy neighborhood with lots of kids and adventures to be had on her very own Klickitat Street.

Besides the farewell barbecue for the Dynamic Duo, it’s been hard for us to fit in seeing the new Harry Potter movie, even though we’ve been looking forward to it since Part I ended. Typically, we fit it in between errands on Friday. Rob tagged along, though in the way of many men when confronted with extended periods of shopping, he tended to bail on us when we were actually in the store.

We went to Safeway before the movie, loading up Miss Scarlett’s trunk while Star patiently waited in the backseat. She also had to wait in the car during the movie, but I think that dogs would rather wait in the parking lot than at home, since being in the car means a) being with the people; and 2) the possibility of fun. Also, Star hasn’t read the books.

Our timing was perfect, though: we arrived in the theater just as the last trailer ended, and the opening credits started just as we took our seats. I noticed that there were only two other people in the theater besides the three of us, and that was almost certainly a unique experience among viewers of this movie.

I enjoyed the movie very much, despite the darkness noted by critics. The one thing I really didn’t like was the epilogue, which I also disliked in the book. I think the three friends should have been left at the end of their victorious battle, on the brink of adulthood with all the rest of lives before them, rather than having their dull domesticity spelled out for us.

But that’s just me.

After the movie, we emerged blinking into the sunshine to take Star for a walk in a nearby field. Then we finished our errands, came home, and unloaded the car. Back to reality. It was nice to have that little break from the real world. That’s the magic of movies – and books.

The stage is set

A huge white tent is a familiar sight on the headlands of the Village in the summer. It’s the home of the annual Music Festival, now in its 25th year. It has a stunning setting by the ocean:

As you can see above, it’s surprisingly nice inside. I guess they have it down pat after a quarter century. And it makes for an intimate venue.

I was there to see the Great Lady of Soul, Bettye Lavette, one of the best-kept secrets from the golden age of Motown. Although she’s been singing for almost 50 years, and had her first hit record at the age of 16, somehow fame managed to elude her. But recently, it’s begun to catch up.

Miss Lavette performed at the We Are One inaugural concert for President Obama, at the Kennedy Center Honors in 2009, and has been nominated for two Grammy Awards. She joked “I ain’t won nothing yet. But they had to say my name before the said the winner’s name.”

She appeared on stage in skin tight black pants, a sleeveless black top showcasing her enviable arms and cleavage, and set it all off with her sky-high sparkly stilettos. Hard to believe she’s 65 years old. Especially when you hear her sing.

She held us all spellbound with the passion and fire of her voice, which reminded me of Janis Joplin’s – that same intensity and fervor and strength. I think my favorite moment of the show was when she sat cross-legged on the stage (“I’m having a senior moment”) and sang Dolly Parton’s “Little Sparrow”. You can see her perform it here.

Wow.

I was kind of stunned with glory as I made my way back to the car. The following morning, I was stunned by the untimely death of Amy Winehouse. Surely there could be no greater contrast than these two women: one who never gave up despite the lack of fame and fortune, and is one of music’s great survivors, and the other, who achieved great success very young, yet was destroyed by it.

Jessica at dinner

Megan and I overcame severe attacks of The Sloths to meet up with Erica and Jessica yesterday evening in beautiful downtown Philo:

to have dinner at the always-delicious Libby’s:

Partly because Erica’s birthday is one day after mine (and ten days after Megan’s), and partly because Erica and Jessica are setting off on a great summer adventure in just a few days. After we hugged hello, Jessica noticed the scratch that Roscoe inflicted on my upper lip the night before. She said, “At first I thought you made a mistake with your lipstick. But I know you better than that.”

In preparation for the trip, Erica bought a van from our friend Lu. I’ve never seen inside it, but Lu, her boyfriend Rik, and Megan used to take it when they worked as medics at a reggae festival. It has a kitchenette and two beds and is supposed to be quite comfortable. Maybe it’s more of a mini-RV than a van. My knowledge of motor vehicles is pretty limited, and I like it that way.

The intrepid twosome is heading north, with stops in Portland and Seattle, maybe even venturing as far as exotic Vancouver*. When we asked Jessica what she was looking forward to the most, she exclaimed, “Science museums!”, bouncing in her chair with excitement. Later, she confided to me that “the scientific gears in my brain are always turning”. The imaginative one, she explained, holding her hands a few inches apart, was much bigger, but didn’t move as much.

She has just read the first Harry Potter book. She said that she hadn’t wanted to read it because of all the fuss about it. She “didn’t like it at first, but then I loved it!” From there, it was on to the joys of Calvin and Hobbes. I asked Jessica if she thought Hobbes was real. She thought about it, and then said “I think he’s real, but he turns into a stuffed tiger when people who don’t understand are there.”

Talk of the transmogrifier and duplicator in C&H led (naturally) to talk of time machines. I asked Jessica where she’d go if she had one, and she immediately replied, “I’d go and warn the Incas about the Spanish. Then I’d go and visit Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

Sometimes I have to remind myself that she just turned eight.

*J fans everywhere, rejoice! Jessica is going to start a blog while she’s on the road!

Megan’s gorgeous nails, complete with flower. And no, they are not fake. Apparently she’s been asked that a lot.

And the pie she made me from the farmer’s market peaches:

Birthday cupcakes!

Rainy birthday to me! Again!

Megan and I braved the rain on my birthday eve to meander some errands. I am pleased to report that Scarlett, my slightly battered but unbowed red car, behaved just fine. Thanks once again to the boys!

We started out at the farmers’ market, where we got cherries and peaches as well as multi-grain bread and a bag of mixed lettuce. Next, Dr. Karen’s office, for Schatzi’s pain meds and oh so expensive Advantage for my cats. Then we picked up a mocha Megan-style (extra espresso) and poked around the seaside bookstore. I finally used part of a gift certificate I got for my birthday last year, buying An Invitation to Indian Cooking and a set of stationery. The fabulous and talented Lisa really inspired me to start sending real mail and postcards. Thanks, Lisa!

Then we were off to Charlottesville for the less enjoyable errands: groceries, human and pet, banking, etc. We had a little extra time before we were to meet Lu, Monica, and Crissy for Girls’ Night Out, so we stopped in at My Beautiful Nails and got our nails all beautiful. Since it was my birthday eve, and therefore a special occasion, I went crazy and got dark red nails instead of my usual pale ones:

I feel like a femme fatale from a noir movie. Megan got a French manicure with a little flower on each thumb, complete with teeny pink glitter centers. Wow. I’ll have to take a picture for you when I see her later today.

Freshly fabulous, we met up with the girls at the Wharf. Monica, being Monica, brought the cupcakes you see above, along with the cake stand. Only Monica! Or maybe Martha Stewart. She also gifted us with cards full of wildflower seeds (to be planted later), a drawing each from her talented husband Joe (you may remember him from my new carpet delivery last year), and a set of ready-made mini-cocktails apiece.

Monica and Lu also have June birthdays, so we’re thinking of having a Girls’ Night In at Lu’s place later this month, where we all sleep over and have drinks and giggle. As Lu said, “No driving, no dogs, and no boys!” It should be a blast.

Because nothing is too good for you, Faithful Reader, I have spared you the grumpy mood I’ve been in over the past few days. The unseasonably rainy weather did absolutely nothing to improve said mood.

Today it’s merely grey and depressing. For some reason, when you get a long weekend, it feels like you get an extra Sunday instead of an extra Saturday. I really should be getting ready for the week ahead instead of blogging about what a crabby little crab cake I am, but one of my few talents is the ability to complain about anything, any time, anywhere.

There was a break in the rain yesterday, replaced by cold winds which sent the windmill spinning and the clothes I hung outside to dry into various parts of the yard.

We decided to have Megan’s birthday barbecue anyway, huddled in our winter coats by the fire. We had sausages with fire roasted peppers, salad, and a cherry pie made from scratch by our brother. He even has an elegant stainless steel cherry pitter. Imagine.

Of all her presents, I think Megan’s favorite was a “city” or “traffic” leash, handmade by a local artisan. It’s about three feet long, and just the right length to get Star from the house to the car and back.

Speaking of cars: as soon as I pulled up at my brother’s yesterday, he came running over to see what on earth was wrong with my car. It did sound quite a lot like the Waltons’ truck, which was forever needing parts from Charlottesville. It turns out my car also needs a part from Charlottesville: a water pump. Apparently I was five or ten minutes away from the defective water pump destroying my engine. So I left the car there and hitched a ride home with Megan and Rob.

Of course, today is a holiday, so I won’t be able to get the part until sometime tomorrow. Jonathan works from Monday through Wednesday afternoon with no break, so hopefully Rob can install it or they can work on it together on Wednesday afternoon.

In the meantime, Megan goes to work tonight as usual (there are no holidays in the ER). She’ll drop the car off here at 7 am, I’ll drive it back where it just came from about an hour later, and return it to Megan in time for her to do the same in the evening. Poor little car. It’s a good thing we learned how to share all those years ago.

On my last day in the city, I decided to stop in at the de Young museum to see the Balenciaga exhibit, after picking up cat food, a cinnamon doughnut from Bob’s, and pizza from Victor’s. All the necessities. Oh, and getting gas. At $4.39 a gallon (as opposed to the relatively low, low price of $4.13 in the Big Town).

One thing I really noticed on this trip was the San Francisco types you never see in Hooterville or environs. The groovy Asian teenagers, with their hip hair, trendy clothes and accessories, generally seen in packs. The wealthy, nipped and tucked mothers with the giant shades, tiny cell phones, and huge, expensive strollers occupied by squalling trophy babies. The Financial District guys, with their shiny, clacky shoes and optional suspenders (on weekends, they all wear the same long, khaki shorts with a polo shirt and baseball hats with no team logo on them).

And then there’s the rarest breed of all: the San Francisco Matron.

These grande society dames never venture from their Nob Hill penthouses without a flawless coiffure and a purse matching their glamorous shoes. They are slim and elegant to the core. They are real Ladies, and they are fabulous.

Many of them were in attendance at the equally fabulous Balenciaga exhibit, and as an inveterate and shameless eavesdropper, walking around with my $2 yard sale purse, I enjoyed the following gems:

Of the dress (far left) with the beautiful, “petal” front in black silk:

“After you wore it, you’d have to press it, wouldn’t you? How on earth would one press it?”

Of the sculptural rose pink gown wore by the gorgeous Ava Gardner (the back of the dress has a surprise bow, vertical rather than horizontal):

“Of course, she could wear anything, couldn’t she?”

I imagine her magnolia beauty would have been breathtaking in this dress.

Of the (in)famous “caterpillar” dress, designed when the master was in his 70s – if anything, he became more daring with age:

“This was his statement piece. He made beautiful things, but this…this was his statement to the world.”

Wonderful.

I loved these two. The velvet one on the right was worn by the delightful and sophisticated Kitty Carlisle Hart, the wife of Moss Hart. The one on the left was worn by the perennially fashionable Claudia de Osborne, who wished to be buried in a gown by her dear friend, whose clothes she wore for more than twenty years. Those are ermine tails on the back of the black velvet dress.

Here you can see his playing with texture, color, and wrapping:

And here you see his magnificent “Crown of Thorns” embroidered gown worn by the Best Dressed Hall of Famer (and subject of unflattering photos by Diane Arbus), Julia Henry:

It was time well spent. Not surprising, since the exhibit was curated by none other than Vogue’s very own Hamish Bowles*. I felt like Frederick the Mouse, storing up all that beauty.

As I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, I tossed a kiss to the city over my shoulder and set my eyes resolutely north.

I’ll be back.

*One of my very favorite Hamish Bowles articles was the one where he went to outdoor survival school. Do read it of you have the time – it’s hilarious.

Birthday kiss

Happy Cinco de Mayo, y’all! We should be sitting in my garden drinking margaritas in the gorgeous sunshine, admiring my tulips. If only life were really like that.

I’ve blogged about Cinco de Mayo before, but this year we have something extra to celebrate. It’s Star’s birthday! She’s three today.

As you may remember, Megan and I drove all the way to Colusa and back last April to rescue Star. Her owner had jumped off a cliff in front of her horrified child and Star, who went after her to try and save her. Star survived; the owner didn’t. Star had a pretty rough time until we went and got her, and only recently we discovered that what she went through was much, much worse than previously thought.

But all’s well that ends well. Star is still technically Megan’s foster dog, but after a year together, I think it’s safe to say that Star is part of the family. And speaking of safe: this birthday marks the first year of Star’s life where no human has laid a hand on her except in affection. And that’s something to celebrate.

Megan and I were lucky enough to have tickets to see the Flynn Creek Circus last week. It was just what we needed to cheer ourselves up after the Sad Day. Lest you think us heartless, I hasten to add that we bought the tickets long before we had any idea of what would happen the day before the show. And maybe we are heartless, because we were both looking forward to laughter and fun. I guess that’s pretty much what life is.

Before the show, we met up with our friends Lu and Rik at Piaci’s, for wine (neighboring county Sonoma unoaked 2009 Chardonnay from Pellegrini) and pizza (Rosa) and catching up. Lu and Rik are both EMS workers, and Megan works those night shifts in the ER, and I have a job and a half, so we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like.

Arriving at Cotton Auditorium* (which used to be a school)…:

…we saw our brother’s battered old Subaru pulling up at the curb. We were surprised and happy to see him, but he was just dropping someone off at the show before heading home. Still, it was good to see him, and we all hugged each other extra hard.

Fortunately, Lu and Rik had managed to grab four seats together, since there was a great turnout. I tried to take pictures, but with no flash, no particular skill, and a cheap-ish camera, not to mention the speed at which the acrobats moved, the results were blurry and deeply disappointing to yours truly. Here are the least blurry ones:

David Jones and Blaze Birge, the Daring Jones Duo who founded the Flynn Creek Circus and are its heart and soul, doing a funny, yet scary knife-throwing act.

Miss Holly, doing a daring and delightful aerial act.

The show was a celebration of strength and beauty and discipline and joy. I highly recommend that you check out the YouTube video of the Daring Jones Duo performing their astonishing and graceful double trapeze act which closes out the show.

*Later, I learned that it was a New Deal project, completed in 1939. I’m really enjoying learning more about my adopted town(s).

Well, dear readers, today marks the tenth anniversary of my blog. Can you believe it?

Ten years ago, my life was different. I was married. I lived in San Francisco. Both of my parents were alive. I went to Europe at least once a year. I worked at a big corporation in a big building. John and I owned a lovely condo in one of the nicest neighborhoods in San Francisco. I love that city still, and my heart I think it will always be “home”. That is how I thought of it when I first saw it, way back in the 1980s.

Now…John and I live a couple of hundred miles apart, though we still haven’t gotten around to getting divorced. He kept the cats when we split up, though only one of them is left, other than, incredibly, my late mother’s cat. We have gone through the losses together, the most recent one in January, and I’m glad we can always be there for each other when it matters. Sometimes I think that being married for 15 years counts as a success, even if in the end you break up. Especially if you stay friends.

Now…I live in the depth (or heart!) of the country, where my doors don’t have locks and my cats roam freely, except at night. My passport lies neglected in a drawer, though it hasn’t expired yet, so there’s still hope. I work for a very small company – well, two very small companies, if you count the jobette – and I make a lot less money than I did at the big corporation. But I’m not mired in bureaucracy and bullshit and office politics. Some things money can’t buy.

Now…my parents are both gone, and in checking my archives, I see that my mother’s unspeakable second husband left her penniless a day after I started blogging. It was all downhill from there, with her cancer diagnosis and her long, valiant fight, which ended at the hospital where my sister still works. I think we three “kids” did our best for her, and I’m glad that I came to help as often as I did. I feel a hard-won peace about my relationship with my mother. My father, as you know, is a different story, and I will love him and miss him until it’s my turn to find out who’s right and who’s wrong about the afterlife.

Now…I rent an eccentric house which is slowly endearing itself to me. Sure, it’s completely uninsulated, cold and drafty in the winter, hot in the summer, and hard to keep clean. But it’s unusual and peaceful and I appreciate that. I’m glad to be closer to my family in every way, and on the whole, I think I’m lucky.

Thanks to all of you who have come along for the ride. Over the years, I have made some great friends and been so thankful for your love and support. I appreciate your friendship and readership. Here’s to the next ten years!

Come on over and set a spell

While my cookie baking skills may be lacking, my shopping skills are unparalleled.

I managed to shop while not being at the store (or online), with no money, and I didn’t even have to bring the purchases home! In fact, the purchases arrived at my house before I paid for them.

How about that?

Yesterday, Megan took our hard-won Rice Krispie Treats to the sneak peek pre-sale Purge Party. It’s an elite event and only the A list is invited, which is why I wasn’t there. That, and my tiara was at the cleaner’s. Megan noticed that were some Adirondack chairs at a ridiculously low price. She called me, and by the time I had made up my mind – a matter of minutes – there were only two left.

Monica agreed to reserve them for me, and I’ll pay her today. Or maybe tomorrow. Rob offered to pick them up and deliver them for me in his trusty truck. So I didn’t have to do a thing, and I’m already “working” on my resolution to improve my outdoor space this year.

Speaking of which: there are now ten sprouts in the pots of tulips!

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.

Tulips beginning to sprout

OK, peeps, brace yourselves for a downpour of excellent news! Are you sitting down? Smelling salts at the ready? Phone poised to call 911? Good. Here we go:

• A month after her arrival in the Intensive Care Unit, A is finally breathing on her own! Yes, she still has a fever and is mostly unconscious, and the hospital is considering charging her rent, but it’s a huge step forward. The most recent email from C, who, bless his heart, has somehow found the time to call or email me every single day of this ordeal, reads as follows:

  “A her breathing is going well, she breathes all by herself now, just gets some extra oxygen.
  Still unconscious most of the time, but I do get a big, big smile every once in a while when she wakes up!
  Also still moving a lot, caused most likely by not getting all those drugs anymore, still fever too. Physiotherapist had her sitting on the edge of the bed again this morning, if she wouldn’t move so much, they would have put her in a chair, but they found it too risky. Love, C”

  So I think she’s pretty much out of the woods now, though she faces a long, hard road of recovery. The worst has to be behind her now. So, yay! And thanks to all of you for your kind thoughts and emails. It really helped.

• I have a new part-time job! It starts on Monday! It’s at a local tourism office. The people are really nice, and I think it will be fun. I’m not exactly looking forward to driving to town three days a week, but after work, I can run errands, meet up with Monica, and maybe even go to the fancy pool. I’ll probably learn about lots of new places and fun things to do. And finally, I can use my make-up and handbag collections!

  On Monday, I’ll get to work at 9:00. At 10:00, we’re all going to a hotel for a social networking class, followed by lunch, a return to the office, and a meeting with a local TV station who is considering partnering with us. Sounds like fun, no?

• The tulips are beginning to sprout! See above. And I keep having to water them, because it has only rained once in the past month. A check of the weather shows a forecast of sunny with highs ranging from 58 to 70 degrees during the day, lows in the 30s (so the orchid is sheltering inside again) for the next ten days. I feel a little guilty when seeing the horrible weather the rest of the country has been having, especially since we’re considering having a barbecue on the weekend.

So there you have it. Things are looking up!

The stockings were hung – well, piled – by the “tree”. I bought it from an artist in Mexico many years ago.

Christmas crackers on my maternal grandmother’s platter. They didn’t pop very well, but they had good prizes (a tiny metal yoyo, a keychain with a faux diamond) and shiny metal crowns to wear during dinner.

My paternal grandmother’s ivory-handled silver and star dish, and my maternal grandmother’s wine glasses.

My world-famous cheese biscuits.

Erica’s amazing Yule Log. The mushrooms are meringue. Finally, a mushroom this family will eat!

Jessica opening the Lily Munster* doll I gave her…

…and dancing** to her new favorite song, “Airship Pilot” by Abney Park:

*Jessica first fell in love with La Lily this Halloween.

**I thought I took a movie of her dance moves, but alas, there were technical (read: user) difficulties.

Ready!

You will (not) be amazed to learn that the phone phixers phailed to call me, or show up. At about 6:30, I called their repair number to ask for an update, and was on hold through the entire length of “Sick, Sad World” (also known as the news). After about 45 minutes, I hung up in frustration. Cell phones do not slam down in anger as satisfyingly as the heavy old fashioned dial phones of my youth.

AT&T called a couple of days ago to say that they had “remotely” checked the phone and it was fine. I told them it wasn’t, and spent some valuable time confirming the appointment with them. Possibly I should ask Santa to put a lump of coal in their stockings when he water skis out of here, along with a clear definition of “customer service”.

I think the decision has been made for me – by them! – and they are getting the axe ASAP. Spotty and sometimes non-existent cell phone service is looking pretty good to me right about now.

It’s a gloomy Christmas Eve here in Hooterville, and the trees are tossing their heads in a way that always makes me think “power outage”. It’s usually the wind toppling trees into power lines that causes it. We’re slated to get rain for the rest of the year, to add to our already impressive total of 24.71 inches for the season.

I really shouldn’t complain compared to muddy and floody SoCal, who bore the brunt of the last storm, and where Paul is spending Christmas with his only child, her husband, and their two children. Yay for grandchildren on Christmas Day! They live in beautiful Pasadena, and Paul described his drive down there as “hellish”, and he is not a man given to overstatement about anything. He might come back up here for a short visit before he returns to the sunny shores of Florida. I apologized for the bad weather while he was here, and he said, “I’m here for the company, not the weather.”

The dizziness has, sadly, not abated. It has made cooking a little unnerving. Kneeling to light the oven, and cocking my head to see where I was applying the match, made me frighteningly dizzy, as did reaching down a box of chicken broth from a high shelf. So looking up too far or leaning down too far are as bad as turning on my side in bed. Got it. Maybe I should try applying a couple of Christmas cocktails and see if they cancel it out.

Yesterday, Meg told me that Lu had this for about a month. It was a virus, so there was nothing to do but wait it out. Even if I wanted to spend $75 and half a day going to the clinic, they would probably just take my money and say the same thing. So I’ll wait it out, and be careful in the meantime. I’ve managed to be pretty much Calamity Suzy-free this year. I have an image to protect, as well as Self.

Other than that, I really don’t have much holiday stress. The presents are wrapped, as you see above. The tree is from Mexico and has a candle inside. It’s the best I can do this year. Megan and I will put the stockings together today and hope for the kitten best. I’ll tidy up the house a little this afternoon or tomorrow morning. We’ll have dinner around 6:30 or 7:00 on Christmas Day*, and since my brother is dealing with the ham, all I’ll have to do is make mashes potatoes, steam green beans, and make my famous cheese biscuits. Erica is bringing a Yule Log she made for dessert, so the most exhausting thing I’ll have to do as hostess is open wine and decant my grandmother’s ivory-handled silverware from its velvet-lined chest.

I think I can handle it.

*I have never understood people who have Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner at some ungodly hour in the afternoon.

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.

Yesterday’s crop of mail was quite outstanding. A “New Yorker” (the subscription was the gift of a friend) and a batch of Christmas cards, including one from some friends who have known us since we were kids, one from a fan of my blog (love that!), and one from my dear friend Patrisha.

Patrisha always makes her own cards, and they are always wonderful. I love her drawing style, and thought I’d share it with you this year. So Patrisha’s gift to me is now my gift to you. How’s that for recycling? 🙂

Patrisha with her dog Hamish and her cat Quince, who is Audrey’s mother. You can see the resemblance.

The cupcake tree.

The wearable wreath.

A winter scene: fallen leaves, sprouting mushrooms beside my house

Mushrooms are as much a sign of winter around here as the advent of robins. Most of them are not as scenic as this one, which is rumored to be poisonous or possibly merely hallucinogenic. I left it alone after I took its picture. We’re slated to get five inches of rain this weekend, so the stage is set for winter, even though it technically isn’t here yet.

We may get rain from today through Christmas. Does Santa have a jet ski? Or at least a pair of really cute rain shoes?

But you don’t need Santa Claus when you have Santa Paul. I think I speak for many girls when I say I’d much prefer a white-haired, blue-eyed gent sweeping into my kitchen and making me a fabulous dinner than some degenerate old housebreaker leaving me tatty gifts and expecting me to make him cookies.

Since Paul lived here before me, he knew that he was up against in my kitchenette: three feet of counter space, a petite ovenette with one shelf, and no dishwasher. Still, he was able to produce the following:

1. He boned a turkey breast, glazed it with maple syrup, Dijon mustard, and crushed black peppercorms, and roasted it on a bed of celery, onions, carrots, and fresh tarragon. The “bed” was later strained and the pan juices used to make gravy.
2. Oven-roasted potatoes, parsnips, and sweet potatoes.
3. Zucchini fritters, as requested by Megan. Secret ingredient: matzo meal!
4. Green beans.
5. Pear and apple galette, served with fresh blueberries.

Santa Paul also has a well-trained elf who made sure I didn’t end up with a sink full of dishes.

It was the best Thursday night dinner ever!