Suzy Says

It’s Magic

I actually went out on Saturday night! Can you believe it? It may well be the first time I have ventured out past sundown since I moved to Hooterville. Alert the media!

I am the anti-vampire. Guess I won’t be starring in any super-popular teen movies any time soon. How very disappointing.

The occasion called for dressing up, if you count Converse skull high tops, Urban Decay’s culty Midnight Cowboy eyeshadow, and a citrine choker, which I do. I was considerably outdressed by two vintage ladies, one of whom wore a splendid ash-grey wrap coat, clasped with a fabulous brooch and paired with matching suede heels, and her equally well-dressed friend, who would turn out to be one of the stars of the show.

Megan, Rob and I met up with Lu and Rick at Eagles Hall in Fort Bragg to attend a night of magic and music.

We hardly had time to settle into our folding chairs before the musicians appeared: drums, cello, violin, bass, saxophone, and conductor/pianist. Robert Goleman, the star of the show, appeared at center stage resplendent in a tuxedo, and began singing “It’s Magic”. He had no microphone, and his rich, warm voice filled the room to the rafters.

Robert is a multi-talented gentleman who runs one of the best nurseries in the West as well as being an actor, singer, magician, and total charmer. This show focused on his amazing talents for magic and singing. Besides putting his lovely assistant into a box and folding it up before piercing it with swords, he also sang the entire aria from the “Barber of Seville”. I hope you enjoy the photo of him above, since my taking it caused a public outcry. Well, one obnoxious woman gave me hell for forgetting to turn off the flash, but she got embarrassed on stage later, so maybe there really is karma. Ha!

My favorite trick was when he called for a happily married lady to join him on stage. This request was greeted by “Good luck!” or similar from a wag in the audience (possibly Obnoxious Woman’s spouse) and answered by the elegant lady I mentioned earlier. The magician took her ring and put it in a scarf. He asked her to hold the ring with one hand and a ring box in the other. He pulled on the scarf, and we all heard the distinctive sound of metal hitting wood. The magician was embarrassed and the lady visibly upset.

While the musicians sought the lost ring, the magician brought out a gum ball machine full of prizes in little plastic balls and gave the lady a quarter. She opened the prize and it was a plastic ring with a gorilla on it. She didn’t consider it an adequate replacement, even though it glowed in the dark and was adjustable. She tried again, and got a fortune saying something like “Magic is a girl’s best friend”, a sentiment with which she clearly didn’t agree.

The magician got a quarter from the audience, telling the donor that he wouldn’t get it back, and the lady tried again. This time, it was her ring in the little plastic bubble!

How did he do it?

It was a wonderful show, all the more so for being a small venue – we were four rows back – so the magic seemed truly magical.

Afterwards, we were standing outside talking about how amazing it was when the two ladies passed by us. I heard the brooch lady ask the ring lady if it was all planned beforehand. “No!” she exclaimed. “I was as surprised as you were!”

What’s better than a yard sale? A yard sale which raises money for needy dogs, that’s what!

On Sunday, Meg and I went to help Monica, her partner in pit bulls, at her annual “purge party”. Monica has a store in town which sells flooring, carpeting and so on, but somehow also has fabulous items of cuteness, from candles to magnets to wallets and make-up. It smells like magic in there. Monica has great taste and always looks effortlessly stylish, which every girl knows is the hardest look to pull off. I totally Covet a lamp in her store, which is covered with vintage buttons. Every year, she organizes local merchants, among others, who bring things to sell and donate a percentage of the proceeds to the Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue. Together we raised almost a thousand dollars!

I held a board with pictures of different dogs on it and a sign saying “Can you guess the pit bull?” I’m sorry to say that I failed to identify the correct dog, but I was in good company – I’d say around 30% of the people got it right. The lucky few who did got a cookie, and everyone got a lesson in pit bull 101 from my dedicated sis.

I have to say I really enjoyed seeing her in action. Her passion just shines and affects everyone she talks to. She was able to correct a lot of misconceptions people have about pit bulls (the locking jaw, the pugnacious temperament, etc.) and even explained to one overalled hick that no, flicking a dog’s nose with a lit lighter is not a good way to stop a fight. Honestly, sometimes I despair of people. Today I was driving behind someone whose dog was hanging out of the back window to the point that both of his front legs were out. I beeped and gestured, but in vain. When I passed the car, I saw that the driver had another dog on her lap.

Whatever.

Meanwhile back at the yard sale, two of Harlow’s siblings were looking for homes. No takers yet, but we did give away some flyers about the puppies and Meg put some up at work. There is also an adoption day this Saturday at the Feed & Pet, so I might go with Megan and help out. You can see that her enthusiasm affects even the most slothful.

It wasn’t all work and no play, though. I did get a see-through corded phone ($4!), so I’m ready for the next power outage in style.

Orange trees at the fair. Note the blue sky!

Yesterday was a girls’ day out. At the 118th annual Citrus Fair!

Megan and I went to meet Lu in beautiful downtown Hooterville. While waiting for Lu, someone called out from her car, “Hey, Megan! I was never so glad to see you in my life as I was at that call!” It was the official paramedic from the call where Megan and Lu unofficially helped a week earlier.

We were getting a little cold waiting for Lu and reading the signs posted on the store’s bulletin board (do I really need a free, 14 year old ostrich who “like room to run”?), so we went in and chatted with the cashier. She regaled us with stories of shoplifters past, including a drunk guy who used to hide wine in his pants, deny it, and then get busted when the bottles fell out of the pants legs onto the floor.

Lu pulled up as we mused on how stupid you’d have to be to steal at the only store in town, and the only store for several miles, and we piled in.

In Boonville, we stopped off to pick up Jessica, who was anxiously awaiting our arrival. Erica was, too, because she had 200 pastries to make that day, and making 200 pastries is a lot easier when you don’t have to brat-bash, as my father would say. I traded her a “New Yorker” with an article on Neil Gaiman for her only child, and we both thought we got a pretty good deal.

Big news: Jessica is no longer subject to the indignity of the car seat! And she is tall enough to ride that ride.

Arriving at the fair, Jessica and I were thrilled by the sight of the Citrus Fair Queen in her red cape and sparkly tiara. We waved, and the Queen waved back very regally for a high school student. Jessica said that she thought she could be a Citrus Fair Queen one of these days, and I bet she could.

Even more exciting than the Queen sighting for Miss Jess were the rides, the more dizzying, the better.

All the grownups were either too scared (Me) or nauseous (everyone else) to accompany the kidlet on the rides. After all, I am the same girl who was horrified by the Ferris wheel at the Florida State Fair a few years ago. Though we did make sure that she was tall enough (she actually exceeded the height requirements) and that there were sufficient safety mechanisms in place. Then we just watched her be delighted. That girl is fearless.

She also caught a couple of toy fish, winning prizes, and wound up the ride experience with a relatively tame carousel ride (I tried not to think about that scene from “Strangers on a Train”, especially since they were playing the same song).

After that, it was time for a BBQ lunch with garlic fries while being serenaded by a mariachi band. Sitting at the picnic table in the sun, I said that I was actually afraid of getting a sunburn. Megan had a sunblock stick in her bag, and we all put some on. It was wonderful to bask in the sun and blue skies, which never did make it to Hooterville that day.

After lunch, we visited the pygmy goats, including twin babies:

We also petted the world’s softest rabbit. He felt like suede.

Megan and I went to a talk on beekeeping from a gentleman who has been a beekeeper for more than 60 years (his father was a life-long beekeeper, and so is his daughter, who gives classes we’re hoping to attend this spring). Among the many things we learned was that in the 1950s, the US exported 60% of its honey. Now it imports 60%. Also that most beekeepers are now 65 or older, so that just strengthened our commitment to truly learning this difficult art.

There was just enough time to watch Scotty and Trink juggle knives – and fire – on unicycles:

all while making the audience laugh.

It was a great day.

When we left Erica and Jessica, Jessica called after us: “Goodbye, enourage!”

The new vet office

On Sunday, Megan, Jonathan, a still-limping Lu and I met up to attend Dr. Karen’s grand opening of her vet office in Mendocino. It’s the first time she’s had her very own practice, and she put all her heart and resources into it. She renovated the little house you see on the left, so it now has a reception area, waiting room, and two exam rooms.

A boardwalk leads from the office to a barn, converted to a surgery:

The surgery has a digital x-ray machine which Meg says is better than the one the hospital has. The idea of having the surgery separate is that animals coming in for other reasons won’t have to smell the anesthesia and get scared or upset. The practice offers holistic medicine along with more traditional methods of treatment and care. In time, there will be outdoor kennels so patients can take the air when the weather is nice.

As you can see, the grand opening was packed. There were lines to write in the guest book, and you could hardly walk around in there for all the people wanting to congratulate Dr. Karen. I don’t think she has to worry about making it on her own any more than Mary Tyler Moore did.

I had the genius idea of giving her a gift certificate for a massage at a spa conveniently located a block or two from the office. I figured she was stressed as well as excited at striking out on her own and dealing with the reno, and thought this would be more welcome than a bunch of flowers. We all chipped in and I hope she has a wonderful, relaxing time. To me it’s much like having a friend who’s given birth. Everyone gives gifts* to the baby but nothing to the mother (other than flowers), who has been through hell for almost a year. I think Moms should have something special just for her, and I thought Karen should, too.

On our way home, I noticed some signs of approaching spring, including this flowering vine near Karen’s office:

and a lovely cherry tree beginning to blossom:

*From what I hear, people tend to give newborn sized clothes, so after a couple of months, the baby has outgrown most of his/her wardrobe.

So it took me this long to notice that the peacock ornaments match my painting. The painting is by Keith Wicks, and it’s called “Russian Hill”. It’s one of the few remaining vestiges of my formerly gracious life, like my diamond watch and my Manolo Blahniks.

Amazingly, the cats have left the peacocks alone so far. I guess chasing real birds makes glass ones a lot less interesting.

I left the cats in charge and went to my sister’s last night, armed with a bottle of sorta-Champagne (it was from Sonoma). My brother and his friend K turned up with split pea soup and cornbread for dinner, along with another bottle of Sonoma’s finest. We listened to music, laughed, and talked. My siblings are confident that this year will be a good one, maybe because they have the well is going now and that’s one step closer to my sister moving there, too. So we talked about the past and the future, memories and hopes.

We didn’t manage to stay up until midnight, but the moonlight was bright enough that I didn’t need the flashlight on my way home. I have learned to look up at the sky between the trees instead of at the ground. In the still of the night, I could hear the ocean.

Happy new year, one and all. Here’s hoping my sibs are right, and it’s a good one.

I’m not sorry to see this year end, characterized as it was by violence, financial disasters, physical injuries, and general bitterness. It wasn’t all bad, though: I did get out of Oakland, and somewhere along the way I started blogging nearly every day, instead of at my usual languid pace.

As Adrian Monk would say, here’s what happened:

January: President Obama’s inauguration. My first ever participation in the annual Day of Service (but not my last). Captain Sully’s triumphant return to his native Bay Area. The beginning of the great storage clean-out. Rob’s emergency neurosurgery.

February: Rob’s surgery successful (thankfully). Conference in Sacramento starring Madeleine Albright. A visit to the Academy of Sciences with a visiting friend. Mini film noir festival.

March: Gorgeousness at the Legion of Honor. Start to look around for somewhere to live other than Oakland. Remembering Dad’s birthday.

Started tracking books read. Between March and December, I read 125 books.

April: Consider selling jewelry. Another conference, but a local one. Jessica’s birthday. A year of Henry. My blog turns eight. Heat wave. Finish clearing out the family storage.

May: Police standoff starring gas-coated neighbor. The company audit begins. Cat-caused eye injury for my sis (happy birthday!).

June: Visiting with Jessica. Birthday wishes. Cat tips and Covets. Broken teapot. Heat wave.

July: The girls turn two. Attempted life swap. Silly shoes, sunburns, and scenic cemetery. A slimy encounter. Farmers’ market and hay bale haircut. Erica’s gifts. More Coveting. A garbage encounter. My beautiful diamond ring finally sells. ~sob~

August: Another heat wave. My Mustang is sold. Bill bummers. Loss of shopping ability. Thoughts of moving. Landlord invasion. Eighth anniversary of Dad’s death. A decision is made. New teapot. Why I don’t Twitter. Puppies!

September: Yet another heat wave. Packing. A happy anniversary. Yet another landlord invasion. Champagne software. Beating the heat. A day at the beach. The funeral fiesta.

October: The interview. Terrifying drive. Spa day. Packing. My sister’s 15 minutes of fame (Yay, Megan!!). Escape from Oakland. Henry moves in. Knee injury. Fall from sleeping loft. Learning the truth about painkillers. Job rejection. Rob’s continuous glucometer. A new library card. Free bees!

November: Suzy proofing. Cat flap, but no cat fights. Memories. Junk world. Bookstore and bees. A Thanksgiving to remember.

December: Internet annoyances. Well digging. Henry’s secrets. Quick trip to Berkeley. Henna tattoos. Cold snap. The horror of Nature. Christmas decorations and cookies. Bear proofing the bees. A quiet Christmas.

Things I have learned this year:

• Gravity can be dangerous.
• Painkillers do not actually kill pain, as previously thought.
• My brother and brother-in-law can do almost anything with almost nothing.
• Country life is a constant battle against dirt. And you ain’t gonna win.
• How to feed bees.
• You can’t always get what you want.

New Year’s Resolutions:

• Avoid damaging Self further.
• Finish unpacking and organizing.
• Answer emails,both work and personal, within 48 hours of receiving them.
• Categorize blog posts from now on.

My sister’s tree

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny. I know, because Audrey woke me up so I could see for myself.

The first order of business was taking Schatzi for a walk. We went over to our brother’s place, checked on the bees, and let Schatzi run and roam to her heart’s content. It was warm enough that Megan and I took off our sweaters, enjoying the sun on our skin. When it was time to leave, Schatzi was nowhere to be seen. We called her and Megan whistled loud enough to summon a New York taxi, but no dog. Megan was ready to leave without her, but I freaked out, so we gave it one more try. She finally showed up then, covered with mud. Including her nose.

Merry Christmas!

After that, it was time to start on the feast, which somehow took up most of the rest of the day. Rob pruned an apple tree so he had wood to smoke the ham, which was basted for hours with maple-bourbon glaze invented years ago by our brother, a formerly professional cook. While Rob tended the barbecue, I made my famous cheese biscuits and gratuitous stuffing (at Megan’s request). I invented the stuffing and it turned out great: cornbread, multi-grain bread, pecans, apples, celery, onion, herbs from the garden, leftover wine, chicken stock, and butter.

I also made an unnecessarily complicated side dish of cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and red onions with a seedy mustard vinaigrette. Add in my apple pie and Megan’s pumpkin pie, both adorned with stars in the pastry, and you have a festive dinner!

Unfortunately, Erica was too sick to attend, so that meant no Jessica, either. However, their presents and stockings are still under the tree, so we can have another celebration later.

Jonathan got off work early, so dinner was still hot when he arrived around 7. After dinner, we all opened our stockings. It’s so fun to see the person whose stocking you made opening it. I got Megan again this year, and a couple of weeks ago, she brought* a box from Sephora to my house, commenting that she wished it was for her. It actually was, containing a travel size skincare kit, and I was delighted to finally tell her that. We couldn’t stop laughing.

While we were opening our stockings, the cats were playing outside under the stars. Audrey showed up at the sliding glass doors with a live mouse in her mouth, clearly proud of her hunting prowess. Needless to say, I was horrified, and my sibs were amused at my horror. “Just wait until they figure out how to eat them!” they said gleefully, adding that cats don’t eat the legs or tail, so there’s always leftovers. Yay! I tried not to think about Audrey sitting on my lap later, licking my hand with her mouse tongue and kissing me with her mouse breath.

I didn’t let the cats back in until there was no sign of that mouse, or any other mouse, for that matter.

*We all share a post office box, so we’re always picking up each other’s mail. Also, all the Fed Ex and UPS packages for everyone on the property are dropped off at a little shelter near the road, and whoever sees the package first brings it to its recipient. It’s not unusual to come home and find a package on your table.

Improved tree

I’ve always been terrible at wrapping presents. You’d think I’d be good at it, given my expertise in applying make-up, love of all things sparkly, and generally trivial mindset, but no. The ends bunch up, the paper is unevenly cut and/or is too big or too small for the package, there’s tape all over the damn place, and the ribbons are knotted and bedraggled. I’m the anti-Martha Stewart.

This is another reason why our Christmas stocking tradition is so very kick-ass. Cheap; non-stressful; fun; and nothing to wrap.

Yesterday, I put together Megan’s Christmas stocking, which was made by Erica. Hence its awesomeness:

I’m pleased to report that it is jam packed with goodies. I actually had candy left over (for now).

The only present I had to wrap was for Jessica, and it’s the best wrapping job I have ever done:

I should get extra credit for valiantly giving her the fluffy snowman pen, especially because it lights up, and the snowflake pin, especially since it’s sparkly and would have looked excellent in my hair. Also festive. Don’t say I never did anything for you, kid.

I smugly put the elegantly-wrapped present and stuffed stocking under the tree. About five minutes later, it was brought to my attention that this was an idea worthy of International Stupidity Day. All the cats converged on the present and started playing with the snowman fluff. Sighing, I removed both items and hid them in the laundry room/pantry*. Oh, Nanny, where art thou?

Speaking of the tree, I ended up excavating a string of lights for it. This just encouraged me, so I added candy canes (in a classic flavor). The iridescent tree topper was half-price the last time I was in Rite Aid, so I had to get it. A little out of proportion to a Charlie Brown sized tree, perhaps, but so are showgirls’ headdresses.

*The washer is still leaking, but Rob put up my “Vertigo” poster, so at least it’s well-decorated. A girl must have some standards, you know.

Christmas cookies

Wow. It’s pouring out there. It’s raining so hard I can hardly hear myself try to think. Between the glass roof on the back porch and the skylight in the bedroom, I feel like I’m under a waterfall.

It’s dark enough to have a light on, and I’ve lit the Christmas lights on the banister:

Here’s my little tree. I thought lights on the tree and the banister above it would be too much, so I just settled for ornaments. Now I kind of wish I’d gotten the lights, and also the light up star shaped topper which was on sale at Rite Aid, but still seemed too expensive at the time.

This is my wreath. I put the ornaments on it and I think it’s cute. It’s on the side/front door.

Yesterday, I helped Megan decorate her tree. It’s a living one, and lives outside, so Rob dragged it over near the sliding glass door* of their living room, so we can see it from inside the house. We put on lights and hopefully rain-resistant ornaments, and it’s beautiful. Pretty soon we’re going to have to haul it to the property and plant it in a place of honor. I think I’ll get a living tree next year, too. At least up here I won’t have to see the depressing sight of trees unceremoniously dumped at the curb the day after Christmas.

We also made Christmas cookies. I can’t even remember the last time I made cookies, but it probably wasn’t during this decade. I found a couple of recipes in the Chronicle which looked intriguing: Russian tea cakes and molasses-black pepper cookies. It was a butterpalooza, I tell you what. Megan made calzones from scratch during the baking process, so the house was toasty and warm.

Later Jonathan came by after work, and we all ate calzones for dinner and enjoyed the sparkling tree, glowing in the darkness.

*It doesn’t actually slide – the house has settled too much. Not that it’s scary or anything. Also it will be really hard to get their furniture out when they move, since the only other door is about half the width of a regular door. And purple.

I just had some really bad in-room coffee and burned my tongue. The beverage which I sort of enjoyed turned out to be extremely hot. Maybe I can sue the motel and stay somewhere better next time. Actually, the room is, as Jacques Pepin would say, pairfectly fine, and it is conveniently located within walking distance of last night’s party. It is also located in a strange convergence of sari shops, marijuana growing suppliers, and gas stations.

Yesterday afternoon Megan and I left our remarkable amount of stuff in the room and took off for Telegraph Avenue to do some shopping, mostly of the window variety. It’s full of students, hippies, and general weirdos there, so we fit right in. We also fulfilled one of Meg’s long-cherished dreams: getting a henna tattoo.

Megan’s dream comes true

The world being as miniature as it is often claimed to be, the artist who did our tattoos happened to be the very one whose work Meg was lusting after at last summer’s reggae festival. Megan and Lu go every year to work as medics at the festival, and didn’t have a chance to get their artwork. But this year, they’re going to meet up with the artist a day before the festival begins, and get artwork all down their arms. Yay! Megan picked out this design for me:

After that, we had some coffee at Peet’s and then put on some make-up and went to the BAD RAP party.

When we packed for the party, I laughingly set aside my Manolo Blahniks, but I both could have and should have worn them. You should have seen the girls there! Black stockings with rhinestone seams, the latest in handbags, shoes, and accessories – I loved the girl wearing a black and white dress with a red hem and red stiletttos, and the elderly grande dame with the fur-trimmed cashmere sweater and suede kitten heels – these women don’t just read “InStyle” and “Vogue”. they do something about it.

While I was admiring the fashionistas and considering that I had never considered pit bulls to be a fashionista cause, Megan managed meet the founders of BAD RAP and talk to them about her goals, and they were not only impressed, but willing to help. It was a win all the way around.

Today we might go to the city before heading back to Hooterville. It’s been a fun little break.

Story time

Even though Thanksgiving is not generally considered a gift-giving occasion (to my mind, one of its more delightful aspects), Jonathan couldn’t resist bringing Jessica a book which gives the real dirt on the Three Little Pigs. It’s authored by the Wolf himself, and you can see that it held Jessica spellbound. She wasn’t the only one, either. Jonathan seems to have inherited our father’s gift for reading stories and doing all the voices. It was great.

When the story was over, Jessica went up to bed. She had permission to read as long as she liked on this special occasion, but spotted my jewelry box. Immediate exploration was called for, and here you see Jessica wearing the earrings I wore at my wedding (my dress was a 1940’s emerald green taffeta gown), along with a string of jade beads my Dad brought me from China and a string of rubies from India:

Sparkle time

In going through the collection with Jessica, I realized how many beautiful things he had given me over the years on his many travels.

While Jessica was being delighted and I was getting nostalgic, there was channel surfing going on downstairs, and we were alerted to the fact that the Rockettes were on. I dragged Jessica down the stairs as fast as I could, and sat with her on my lap as the Christmas Spectacular unfolded in front of us in all its glory.

During the first number, where the Rockettes were wearing their Candy Cane outfits, she observed, “They look like little Christmas presents.” After a while, she said, “They’re the most beautiful girls in the world!” I was about her age when I became enchanted by the Rockettes and the Weeki Wachee mermaids, and the enchantment has lasted all these years. It was so fun to share it.

The next day, Erica told me that Jessica dressed up in a leotard and danced around the house saying “I’m a Rockette! I’m a Rockette!”

View from the bookstore

In addition to picking up unglamorous necessities at the unglamorous Rite Aid (why do I always run out of all my drugstore items at once?), I also stopped off in Mendocino to pick up the organic, free-range Thanksgiving turkey from Mendosa’s. Fortunately for me, my sister had prepaid it, so all I had to do was put the box in my cart along with the last minute T-Day items: a bag of fresh green beans the size of my head, and equally fresh cranberries for my (in)famous cranberry-bourbon relish.

The last time Meg and I were at Mendosa’s, we noticed that they had ribbon candy for sale. Hand-made ribbon candy. My grandmother, whose wedding photo you recently admired, used to keep ribbon candy in a cut-glass covered dish at the holidays, and looking at the bright candy curls instantly brought me back to her wonderfully festive holiday celebrations. We bought some of the clove flavor, and it was even better than I remembered. I looked for it this time but alas! Others seemed to have discovered it, too, and they were out. They did have candy coal, though, which might be good for Christmas stockings. We’re all a lot naughtier than nice.

With that out of the way, I decided to stop by the bookstore, which has the view you see above. It also happened to have Christmas cards by the wonderful Snow & Graham, so I picked some up, while resisting buying new books, including the latest by Michael Connelly, even though it was autographed. It’s a great place to browse.

I spent much of today being shockingly domestic. I set the turkey to marinate in the brine I made while simultaneously making syrup for the bees (more later on that subject); made a shepherd’s pie with ground turkey also bought from Mendosa’s; did about 5,000 loads of laundry (some for Rob, some bedding for our T-Day guests, and some of my humble own); made lunch for the boys, who started digging a well on the property today; walked Schatzi on the logging road, and etc.

The plan is to brine the turkey overnight, rinse it and let it rest tomorrow, and either smoke it, if Jonathan isn’t on well patrol, or roast it if he is. Tomorrow I’ll cook the cranberries. Erica is bringing the pies and stuffing made with chestnuts she harvested herself, so all we’ll have to make on the day is the turkey, the mashed potatoes, and the green beans.

The first Thanksgiving in my new house! And no travel required.

Schatzi in her “Happy Halloween” sweater, which glows in the dark!

Megan and I ventured to Lu’s new house for a party on Friday night.

The new house is near a small town called Gualala (variously pronounced Gwa-la-la and Wah-la-la). It’s about an hour’s drive away, on twisty and turny roads (there seems to be no other kind around here). It was so foggy most of the way that I was spared the horror of looking down the precipitous cliffs to the ocean below, and it had an appropriately horror movie feel, with the fog drifting out from wind-bent trees. Megan, having often driven the ambulance down this road in storms and icy roads and other adverse and perverse conditions, was unperturbed as usual.

On the way, she pointed out the sign for the Beacon Bar. Apparently, it’s a guy who turns his barn into a bar when he feels like it, and when he feels like it, he lights a beacon to alert the drinking and driving public. The fog had cleared enough by the time we came back to see the light.

En route to the party, we stopped off in the charming little town of Point Arena for coffee. It has a nice old movie theater showing new movies, some cafes and little shops, including, surprisingly, a record store.

The sun came out as we approached Lu’s house, which is set on four acres in the woods. We were greeted enthusiastically by the humans and canines, including little Harlow (aka my puppy), who Lu and Rick adopted a couple of weeks ago. Harlow helped to carve a Jack-o-lantern:

while wearing a ballerina costume. Later, she managed to get out of the outfit and had a nap in her fancy bed:

I think she’s done pretty well for herself.

The party was fun. Lots of people, kids and dogs running around. Rick had made his famous jambalaya and beer bread, and we ate at a bonfire near the house. After dinner, we went through the haunted house Lu and Rick had made in the woods. I thought it was great, though they have made much more elaborate ones in the past. The perfect touch was added by one of the kids jumping out and yelling “Boo!” at me, making me jump and scream in a satisfying manner.

Up next: experiments in gravity. Turns out ol’ Isaac Newton knew what he was talking about.

I’m kind of surprised by how upset I am over losing the original of this post. I had a hard time putting it back together. And it’s not as good as the original.

Also, since I had internet problems when I was up there last week, I got out of the habit of writing nearly every day. I find the more I write, the more I write. If I take a few days off, I have a hard time getting back in stride. Go figure.

Here’s the reconstituted post. Sigh.

Rose’s funeral fiesta was amazing. It was held at her former house, which will soon be my house. Dozens and dozens of people were there; kids ran around the garden and played on the trampoline. It turns out that I also have a swing, seen here being modeled by Jessica:

There was a buffet, and a bar with red and white wine, water, lemonade, and of course margaritas. Overhead, there were beautiful hand-cut banners with images traditional for Mexican Dia de los Muertos* (Day of the Dead) celebrations. Here you can see skeletons bearing a coffin, with lit candles on either side:

There were little shrines all over the garden, with flowers, candles, little sculptures, shells, and some of Rose’s work (she was a gifted potter and artist). I love the saw repurposed as art in the last photo:

There was an altar for Rose, covered with photos from every stage of her life. My favorite was one of her sitting happily in a hammock, beaming with joy.

All over the garden, there were notes and letters to Rose and her family pinned to the trees. We also wrote messages in a little book. I have to admit that I was as proud as a mother when I saw Jessica write “I miss you Rosemarie. Love, Jessica” in the book. She signed her name in cursive writing, a new accomplishment.

A mariachi band had come all the way from Santa Rosa, and serenaded us as we ate, drank, and talked. Erica set up a tip jar for the band before setting to work carving a watermelon to look like a flower.

Mark, who was Rose’s son-in-law, announced the last song the mariachis would play. It is a traditional farewell song, and sounded to my untutored ears like “Los Galindos”. Mark says the title means something like “Little Birds”. It was a lovely and moving song. As the artists took their leave (and their tip jar), we moved our chairs to the part of the garden where Rose’s altar was.

A microphone was set up, and people got up and spoke about Rose, including her granddaughters and, remarkably, their friends, all of whom were less than 10 years old; the woman who had introduced James and Rose many years ago in Baja; and James’s cousin. There were laughter and tears, and many shared memories. Rose’s daughter Citlali recited a poem, and played a tape of Rose’s brother Axel, who couldn’t be there, singing Charlie Chaplin’s Smile.

As the sun began to set, Mark set a large chunk of clay beside Rose’s altar and invited everyone to take a piece and make a bead, which would be fired in Rose’s kiln. I patterned mine with little dots in spirals, and Erica made hers look like a little face. Here are some of the beads on Rose’s altar:

The celebration went on long into the night, with impromptu music provided by the guests, playing guitar, harmonica, and conga drums. Candles were lit and flickered in the moonlight. As Mark hugged me good-bye, he gestured around the garden and said, “She is everywhere here.”

*It’s on November 1. My new landlords have offered to celebrate with us, so we can do something special for our parents. It’s the day after Halloween, when I will be the newest member of Jessica’s trick-or-treating entourage. Last year’s numbered six.

Birthday Report Card

Foggy, overcast: C

Work day (ugh): D

A million and a half birthday emails, some unexpected, and one announcing a new kitten and an engagement (in the PS!): A+

Also Facebook love: A+

Actual birthday cards (bonus points: Hand-written letter received the day before my birthday, with drawings): A+

No money to actually do anything: F

Dow is up! A

Watched Blue Jays game with morning coffee : A

But they lost: F

Bottle of California “champagne” in refrigerator (to open with the Detroit/Pittsburgh game – guess Detroit isn’t going to win the Stanley Cup on my birthday this year): A

Blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup for breakfast: A

Average: B

On the birthday covet list:

The Birds Barbie (every girl should have a Barbie before she turns 50):

Chanel’s Facettes D’Or Limited Edition Gold Fiction Nail Colour:

Boxed Set of Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley Series:

A bottle (or two!) of the Widow:

A day with the fabulous K, including a stop at Dr. Nails and flowers on our toes.

Thanks everyone for all the birthday wishes. I know you love me – xo xo

I finally put the tree away under the house this morning, after, appropriately enough, laying the wreath on top of the box. Henry was the only mourner as I interred the white box under the house. Rest in pieces, shiny tree. Maybe I’ll see you in the hereafter.

As I write, I’m eating a green apple Jolly Rancher from my Christmas stocking. Given that Twelfth Night is upon us, I’d better stop acting as if it’s still the holidays and perfectly acceptable to eat candy all day, especially in the morning. I should probably take off the remnants of sparkly polish Jessica applied to my nails on Christmas Day, too. But if I do, the fun is officially over.

Maybe I’ll wait until all my candy is gone.

I already took the Christmas tree down, and I already miss it.

I used to wonder what was the matter with those people whose trees were at the curb the day after Christmas. Now I know: they have kittens.

Mine started their siege as soon as the battle of setting up the tree was finally over. They merrily chased the string of lights as I wove it through the branches. They relentlessly hunted the gorgeous glass peacocks (with real feather tails!) without a license. What was I thinking? If the cats live to be 22, as a friend’s cat did, they’d still be after those birds. I still regret their gorgeousness hidden away in a box, possibly forever, when they should be delighting Me and passers-by on an annual basis.

~sigh~

The entire time the tree was up, minus nap time, was occupied with pouncing on the tree, chewing on the tree, trying (and succeeding) in pulling the tree over, jumping on it, and driving Suzy to despair. Armed with a plant mister, I squirted them with water during the tree attacks, which diverted them temporarily, but only temporarily. Yelling at the cats and squirting them made me so sad that I just packed it all up, even though everyone knows that packing up the tree before Twelfth Night is bad luck. And I did want one more night with the tree sparkling and the candles in the fireplace flickering, but being a grown-up is one big disappointment, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now.

Henry fled as I dragged up the heavy trap door in the floor of the porch where he was comfortably ensconced on the couch. I have noticed that cats, quite reasonably, frown on any kind of housework-related disruption to their otherwise civilized lives. I got the box out, and dismantled the tree far more quickly than I had assembled it, though the kittens’ participation was equally enthusiastic on both occasions. June even jumped into the box of tree parts for one last desperate chew.

By the time I was finished, I couldn’t face the perilous journey under the house in semi-darkness, so I left the box on the Henry-vacated porch, where it remains to this day. After I put the box outside, I had to vacuum up tree residue, which made the kittens flee in terror of housework. They’ll have to think of other ways to drive me crazy, and I have total confidence in their abilities. Henry has returned to his comfortable porch and seems to have forgiven me, since he let me pet him two days in a row when I fed him (my only petting opportunity).

I’m still clinging to my wreath for now.

There was a power outage during the transition from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. I’m secretly convinced it was Santa, protesting the total lack of cookies and milk and carrots for the reindeer. He did drop off Jessica’s gift on the front porch, though. I guess by the time he gets to Albion, he’s too tired to mess around with chimneys and things like that.

I feared the worst, since I know Albion is low priority for power restoration (which is why my brother has a generator), but it came back on in less than two hours and – thankfully – in time for coffee. After coffee, my sister and I took Schatzi for a muddy walk during a sunny break in the rainy day. Just minutes after we returned, it started raining and hailing and looking a lot like Christmas.

Jessica and her mother arrived sometime after noon in a flurry of hugs and kisses. It’s so great having a rental kid for Christmas: getting to sleep in and getting the wide-eyed wonder. Naturally, Jessica was the exception to the stockings only rule, and it was fun watching her open her gifts, which included no fewer than ten books. She is already reading the “Little House” books, and has written a letter herself to Neil Gaiman – and received a response, handwritten in fountain pen. Look out, world!

After the presents, we all pitched in to make dinner. The boys cut apple wood, put it in the barbecue, and set the ham to smoke with a maple-bourbon glaze for a couple of hours, while my sister made pie from the huckleberries she picked this summer and I made my world-famous cheese biscuits. Oven-roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes rounded out the meal (and us)!

After dinner, my brother read some of Jessica’s new books aloud, and I have to say, he really inherited Dad’s gift for reading stories to an audience. We were all mesmerized as he did all the voices. I think we may have a new Christmas tradition on our hands.

Brian Wilson at the Paramount Theater

First things first: the heat wave has receded, replaced by still sunny skies with refreshing breezes, and not a moment too soon.

While still in its mighty grip, I went to see the great Brian Wilson on Friday night. It was an all-around fabulous experience because:

1. The show was in Oakland, at the historic and gorgeous Paramount Theater. Just a ten minute drive from my house! I didn’t even get lost, it was so close! Actually, it’s just a couple of blocks from my rarely visited office.
2. Parked right behind the theater! Considering the valuable minutes and hours I have spent looking for parking since I moved to the wrong side of the Bay, this is no small achievement.
3. I was only seven rows back from the stage (not that you can tell by the graininess of the illegally obtained photo above), the closest I have ever been to the genius behind the Beach Boys.
4. He started right on time (with the classic “California Girls”), unlike some people I could mention.
5. Brian Wilson!

At 66, Brian just released his latest album, That Lucky Old Sun, last week to rave reviews. I’ve seen him play several times over the past few years, notably performing his masterpiece, SMiLE, and I’ve never seen him so relaxed and happy. The only flaw was a slight problem with the video part of one song, but this was the beginning* of the US tour, so such minor issues can be overlooked.

All in all, it was a magical evening.

*Naturally, he decided to start the tour here since I now live here!

Well, my little muse-lette seems to have flown the coop. Knowing my muse-lette, she is currently ensconced in a luxury hotel, ordering room service, booking a mani-pedi, and not even thinking about working.

Oh, to be my muse-lette! Next to my lifetime (so far unachieved – possibly due to overwhelming sloth and lassitude, as well as the total lack of the right, millionaire-type connections) ambition of idle rich, that may be my perfect job. Or maybe dilettante. Personal shopper to the stars? I can think of few things more fun than spending other people’s money on the most fabulous things in the most fabulous stores.

A girl can dream.

While being on hiatus here, I’ve been on the road. The greatest hits of the trip were: Niagara Falls, Cleveland, and Albion.

First stop…

Niagara Falls

It was 96 degrees when I arrived at the Falls, which made it the perfect day to go on the legendary Maid of the Mist. This something I have always wanted to do. It is a tribute to the slothfulness and lassitude listed above that I didn’t do any of these things until I was 40 or better. However, I think I appreciate the glamor and splendor of these national treasures more at this stage of my life than I would have in my careless youth.

Wearing my souvenir blue rain slicker (which was completely unequal to the mist) along with my fellow passengers, we approached the magnificent Falls. Either we actually entered the Falls or were so close it made no difference, since we were all delightfully and deliciously soaked. It was a breathtaking experience to feel part of such a powerful and magnificent force of nature. I was so moved and so delighted. If you go to Niagara Falls, you have to do this. Suzy says.

And onward to…

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Cleveland

In case you were wondering why I was going to Cleveland (the usual reaction when I told people I was going there), now you know. The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is sited spectacularly on Lake Erie, and full of more fascinating exhibits than any one person could see in any one day, or possibly week. It is the Louvre of rock. My advice to potential visitors is to choose the exhibits which interest you most and visit them first. If your feet and mind can handle more, then check out the optionals.

My first stop was the special Beach Boys exhibit, which was small but full of gems. I’m always fascinated by hand-written notes and lyrics, since they give a little glimpse into how the artists thought and wrote, and by their clothes and instruments, as if these objects can somehow bring us closer to these remarkable people and make us understand them better.

I was horribly disappointed to learn that I had missed a lecture by David Marks, one of the original Beach Boys, by only one day. However, I was consoled by the rest of the museum, particularly the fab fashions of the great Motown era, Joey Ramone’s and Sid Vicious’ leather jackets (Sid was approximately the size of a 12 year old. His pants and t-shirts are oh so teeny!) and the exhibit on the beautiful and doomed Rick Nelson. Once again, Suzy says go there. You’ll have fun.

The Indians meet the A’s at Jacobs Field

Of course, I couldn’t pass up the chance to check out the smokin’ hot Cleveland Indians on a smokin’ hot day. It was an afternoon game, but very well-attended, and the ballpark is lovely. There were a lot of families there, and it was charming to see two or three generations sharing the experience. Beside me, a grandfather with shaking hands carefully showed his engrossed young grandson the art of the boxscore. Grandpa’s hands weren’t too shaky to catch a foul ball and present it to his thrilled grandson. I was pretty thrilled myself.

And the Indians beat the A’s.

Last but not least…

My sister’s garden

How’s this for an office? I had an early moning conference call while visiting my sister and brother, so I took my coffee and phone and sat in the garden while being really quite business-like. Other than my business blather, all that could be heard was the wind in the trees, the slowly awakening bees, and the busy hummingbirds dive bombing the fuchsias. Ideal working conditions, especially since it was over in an hour and I could go and do fun things with my family.

Among the fun things was the 46th annual BBQ to raise funds for the volunteer fire department, of which my brother is a dedicated member. I can think of at least one girl who would gladly pay the $14 admission fee to be surrounded by firemen. We had a good time and I’m glad to help such a worthy local cause.

I finally signed the divorce paperwork (which informed me in a big box in big letters on the second page that I was BEING SUED) and had it notarized. When I brought it to the Fed Ex office in my sister’s town to have it notarized and shipped to John, the woman behind the counter asked cheerfully, “And what are we notarizing today?” When I said, “Divorce papers”, her face dropped and she said she was sorry while scurrying for the notary stamp. It kind of cast a pall over the whole proceedings, if you want to know the truth. I kept telling her it was OK, but she couldn’t wait for me to get my gay divorc?e butt outta there.

John can file the papers in mid-August (there’s a 31 day waiting period, I guess in case one of us changes our minds), and then 6 months until it’s final. So in February of next year the bureaucracy will be behind us. It’s about time. And really, it’s OK.

Next on the list, next week, is Detroit, where I will enjoy the company of the delightful Kathleen, her Tigers, and the new exhibit at the Henry Ford Museum. I’m hoping for dinner at TJ’s to make the Detroit Experience complete. I might stop by our brand-new office, conveniently located near Tigers Stadium, but I’m not planning to work. How Suzy is that? Go to the office, and not work.

I may already have the perfect job.