Suzy Says

Last weekend was wonderful, though it was also a busy one. Come along with me for a magical mystery tour of the county!

Friday: Met my friend Jim after work at the Ledford House. I was greeted outside by a very fluffy and friendly black cat, and inside by my friend, who had a local beer in front of him. I ordered a glass of local wine, and we settled in at the bar to admire the view and catch up with each other’s news. Even though it was overcast, the view was still spectacular. I never get tired of watching the ocean in all its moods.

The second anniversary of his husband Joel’s death is upon us, and we drank a toast to the dear departed. But we also laughed, thinking of how the royalty checks still come in from the “MacGyver” episodes Joel wrote, and remembering how he smoked pot with Allen Ginsberg when he was at Harvard. He lived a rich and wonderful life. I just wish it had been longer.

Saturday: Megan and I headed to Boonville in beautiful Anderson Valley. We were in search of tomato starts for the family garden, so we stopped at a nursery where chickens were merrily hatching:

And two yin and yang cats were playing (or was it fighting):

It turned out that the white cat in the background is the mother of the black one in the foreground. The white one was very friendly to me, but the black one needed some convincing before I could pet her.

At the farmers’ market in Boonville, we ran into Rose’s daughter Citlali, but we didn’t find the Holy Grail of tomato starts. We ended up getting Plan B tomatoes at a plant sale at the high school. As you do.

We met Erica and Jessica for lunch. We worked on plans for Junapalooza, which is basically going to be a dessert extravaganza, and entirely catered by Erica other than the cucumber sandwiches, which may be the only thing we are serving that doesn’t have sugar in it. There have to be some compensations for being a grown up, and having sugar in multifarious forms for your birthday dinner may be it.

We gave Jessica her belated birthday t-shirt, which she loved, and she gave us origami birds she had made, seen here gracing my sandwich:

I love those girls.

On our way home, we stopped at Libby’s, which was miraculously open, but which only had one order of al pastor left, because you can’t have everything, which seemed to be the theme of the day. I let Megan have the al pastor and I settled for carnitas, because that’s the kind of sister I am.

I got home in time for the Kentucky Derby. I had made simple syrup infused with mint, and bought all the other Julep necessities, including freezing the glass for it. It turns out that I am not a Julep fan, sadly. I love the idea of it and the name of it and everything but the actual taste. It is pretty intense for daytime drinking also.

Sadly, my favorite jockey, the legendary Calvin Borel, had retired just a couple of months before the Derby, and I missed him and his smile as the jockeys came out of their dressing room to mount the beautiful horses. I love the walk over and the call of “Riders, up!” and all the pageantry. The favorite, named for the legendary Detroit Red Wings player Gustav Nyquist brought a little reminder of hockey to the glamorous occasion, only appropriate during playoff season.

Sunday: It was up and at ‘em again, leaving the house by 9:00 am and not getting home until after 6. Megan and I headed over to Lichen’s house, where he cut her hair and we admired his garden and his new to him Rottweiler, Keeper. At nearly 9 years old, she isn’t very fresh, but she is very sweet, and they seem very happy together.

Our next stop was Anchor Bay Thai, where we got dinner to go at lunch time, ‘cause that’s how we roll. I always think I will try something different, but I couldn’t resist getting my favorite Massaman curry, fresh spring rolls, and cucumber salad.

With dinner taken care of, we headed to Point Arena for the last ballet of the season streamed from the historic Bolshoi Theater in Moscow. At three hours (partly because of two intermissions), it was long, but it was my favorite of the season. I loved the costumes and sets and the beauty of the dancing. Semyon Chudin, who memorably played the Mouse King in the Nutcracker, played the male lead, and he and Ekaterina Krysanova, who played his love interest, had wonderful chemistry and matched each other well. I still can’t believe they can jump so high and spin like that!

It was a wonderful experience. And it was wonderful to see something so beautiful and then drive home through such beautiful countryside.

It was a great weekend.

A YEAR AGO: I was having a lovely weekend then, too.

Birthday Girl

You guys! Jessica is a teenager!

Of course you know that Jessica’s birthday is every April 15, but this one was particularly momentous, since she turned 13. We were able to celebrate on her actual birthday, since it was conveniently located on a Friday. Above is the birthday girl, wearing a hat her mother made.

We all convened over at the family estate for the birthday party, which was also the first party there this year. Jessica and I perched on a hay bale while she showed me her sketchbook, full of wonderful drawings and ideas. She opined that my name did not suit me, being “far too practical”. She thought I was more of a Fleur than a Susan, and I have to agree. Sorry, Mom and Dad, but I have always felt that I deserved a more glamorous name.

We unintentionally ended up with something of a theme birthday. Jessica is into manga and anime these days, including one called Totoro. Erica made a fantastic Totoro themed cake:

which was deep, dark chocolate and somehow managed to be both rich and light. The filling was dulce de leche and the frosting was buttercream. The characters on the cake are Totoro (you may remember Jessica wearing her Totoro fleece PJs at Christmas a couple of years ago) and soot sprites, with rainbow sprinkles, since that is apparently what soot sprites eat.

Megan ordered a wonderful t-shirt for Jessica, which hadn’t arrived on time, so we gave her a picture of it:

I’m pleased to say that she was wearing the “Four More Pages” shirt that I had made for her last Christmas. I gave her three pairs of socks from Pippi’s: math themed; Alice in Wonderland; and Japanese looking cherry blossoms:

She seemed very pleased with both the socks and the shirt to be. There was squealing involved. 🙂

Dinner was pulled pork made by Jonathan, grill bread with spiced dipping oil made by Megan, and mayonnaise-free* coleslaw made by Erica, all at the birthday girl’s request. We perched at the Waltons-sized picnic table and enjoyed eating and talking together, telling stories of when Jessica was a little kid, which seemed to amuse her more than embarrass her. I’m happy that she still wants to spend her birthday with us. Every year, I think it will be the last one. Maybe it never will be.

Happy birthday, kidlet. We love you.

*Because my sibs hate it. This was the basis of Erica’s best prank ever a couple of years ago.

A YEAR AGO: Farewell to a gentle giant.

I’m celebrating my blog’s 15th(!) anniversary (birthday?) by hopefully getting internet service restored at my hippie hovel.

It’s been out for about a week – undoubtedly the ever-exorbitant bill will not be prorated, due to the ever-useful small print – and my blog’s birthday was the earliest the technician could get there. I’m hoping that he does in fact show up and is able to find my house. Also that he can both diagnose and correct the problem.

In the meantime, I’ve been taking my laptop to work so I can at least check my email when I’m on a break. My neighbor’s spotty and unsecured wifi has occasionally let me hitch a ride, but mostly it shows up as working while not allowing webpages to go or email to come and go. Cell phone service is so bad at my house that I am forced to have a landline, and needless to say, that also means no using your cell phone as a hot spot or getting email on it.

Thanks for your company on this long and bumpy ride. It’s been an adventure!

Update: As of 3:30, the technician hasn’t shown up. Maybe it’s a 420 thing. Or maybe just a Mendo thing.

A YEAR AGO: My blog was 14.

Monica’s Shop

My friend Monica is always inspiring and creative. Her store is full of things both beautiful and practical, and the atmosphere is somehow both peaceful and exciting, because you never know what you’ll find.

Monica put her own twist on the First Friday tradition, by opening early instead of staying open late. She was surprised by the enthusiasm of the response: people were lined up fifteen minutes before the store was scheduled to open!

Inside, Monica was celebrating the bees, serving local roastery Thanksgiving’s Bee Bold blend coffee (a percentage of sales goes toward saving bees through Friends of the Earth) along with hand-made apple-ginger scones accompanied by honey-cinnamon butter. To go with the coffee, there was lavender sugar, and for non coffee drinkers, there was fresh spring water infused with berries, which was delicious.

Near the refreshments were displays of honeycombs, beeswax, and how bees produce honey as well as bee friendly plants to encourage local gardeners to attract and feed our endangered apian friends.

The artwork was by local children and was absolutely charming:

I was sorry that this delightful piece was sold, because I would have bought it immediately:

As it was, I settled for a handmade and sparkly bee pin:

You know how I love the sparkle.

A YEAR AGO: A trip into the past.

And in the “some things never change” department…

I spent most of Saturday in a concerted effort to get rid of a secret flea invasion which has made Audrey scabalicious once again. Clyde and I are bite-less, but the delicious Audrey is apparently the French Laundry for fleas, being a destination location for discerning siphonaptera.

Or else one or two of them sneezed on her or walked by, since her intolerance for the presence of fleas is about the same as her intolerance for everything else, from canine passers-by to being kept inside against her will.

I am always surprised that there is a flea siege in the dead of winter, but a perusal of my blog shows that there was one the same time last year, so I am a little slow on the uptake.

The day was spent in washing all the bedding, sprinkling diatomaceous earth on the carpets, working it in with a broom, and vacuuming it up after it sat for a while, as well as applying Revolution to the napes of my annoyed cats’s necks. Unfortunately, it comes in packs of three, and not having to use the third one reduced me to tears.

After a long day of lachrymose housework, it was good to have dinner with Lu and Megan before going to a reading at the theater.

I had never been to a reading before, and didn’t know what to expect. I thought the actors would sit on stools and read from scripts, but there were sets (who knew you could do so much with a folding screen?), props, and costumes, and some of my favorite actors. The reading was a trio of reimagined Grimm fairytales, each grimmer than the last (a stepmother kills her troublesome stepchild and feeds his stewed body to his father; a father is forced to chop off his daughter’s hands by a devil). Despite the gruesomeness, we all enjoyed the acting and it was a great evening. I hope they do this again during the new season.

A YEAR AGO: Fighting the flea fight. Again.

At dinner after the woodworking show, Dave and Jennifer surprised us by asking us to join them at the Bolshoi Ballet’s “Taming of the Shrew” the following day. Dave is the kind of guy you expect to see ensconced in his favorite chair, watching football with a beer at hand, but it turns out he is also a guy who enjoys an avant garde production of Shakespeare transformed into ballet. Who knew?

Since we rarely, if ever, journey to Point Arena without a side trip to Anchor Bay for Thai food, we agreed to meet them at the theater. We arrived at the restaurant shortly after it opened:

and ordered delightful things like fresh spring rolls and Panang curry to take home for dinner.

As for lunch, we had enough time to go to the old chowder house at the pier:

where we watched the intrepid surfers plying their daring art in the icy, high tide waters, apparently unafraid of the rocks that lurked just below the surface. It is impressive to watch them ride the rolling waves with skill and strength.

We parked across from the theater and were greeted with deep, hound dog barks. It turned out that we had unknowingly parked right in front of Dave and Jennifer’s car, and their dog was excited to see us. The ticket taker was less than taken with his voice, however. When we bought our tickets, Megan told her that he wouldn’t keep barking after we were out of sight, and she grumbled, “He’d better not!”

Inside, we found Dave and Jennifer ensconced in balcony seats, and we only had a few minutes to spare before the magic started. I was concerned that Shakespeare’s comedy would not translate to ballet with no spoken words, but I need not have worried. Of course, you would have to already know the play for the ballet to make sense, but even if you didn’t understand the subtleties of the story, you would enjoy the beauty and power of the dancing. It was athletic as well as graceful, and even the whisper-thin ballerinas had muscle definition in their arms and backs.

The music was by Shostakovich and the sets were minimal. The costumes delighted my fashion-loving heart:

We all enjoyed it so much, and it was even more fun to share it with our friends.

A YEAR AGO: The latest in a series of storms was merrily toppling trees and, yes, leaving us powerless. The (winter) usual.

I met Megan and Rob after work one evening. They were accompanied by the ever-adorable Star and Stella. In fact, Stella was walking Megan as I came out of the door. Stella was quite interested in going in and seeing what my workplace was all about, but we eventually persuaded her that nothing fun ever happens there.

We stopped at the library for the near-weekly book exchange, and I noticed that it was not pitch dark at 5:30 pm anymore. 5:30 am could learn a lot from 5:30 pm.

In keeping with her former taxi and current parking locating abilities, Megan found a spot just a few steps from Town Hall, where this year’s crop of students were showing their mid-year designs at the Fine Woodworking Show.

We met up with Dave and Jennifer and a maddening crowd. I had never seen the show so crowded. Part of the problem was that it was the opening night reception, and the tables of food were set right inside the doors, creating a traffic flow problem worthy of LA at rush hour.

It was worth fighting through the throngs to see the wonderful art within and talk to the artists. This chair was not only gorgeous, but comfortable:

The artist said that anyone who sits in it, whatever their height and size, says that it’s comfortable. The color of the upholstery was inspired by the sails of the ship which carried her grandfather from China to California many years ago.

This piece looked like a plain box, until it opened to reveal the asymmetric wonder within:

I really enjoyed being with Rob, who knows so much about woodworking and who notices things that no one else does.

We all went out dinner after the show, with the rain sluicing down the windows like a waterfall as we enjoyed our burritos and shouted over the loud music. The food and the company were great, though.

When I got home, I stayed up late reading and was rewarded by a storm-induced power outage. The next morning, I had my phone in my hand to call PG&E for an update on the outage when the power came back on. I rushed around washing dishes and doing laundry while the power shone and the frogs cheerily sang about the rain.

A YEAR AGO: A trip down Memory Lane. One of my favorite places.

I couldn’t wait for Megan to open her Christmas stocking. I was sure I had included the perfect present*: a gift certificate for getting her hair highlighted with the ever-wonderful Angelika. Her reaction, however, was not what I expected: she burst into peals of helpless laughter.

Me: ???

Megan: (Gasping) Open your stocking.

Inside my stocking was…a gift certificate for highlights with Angelika! With the added bonus of being drawn by Jessica.

We were both laughing. I love it that Angelika kept the secret and that we both gave each other what we really wanted.

I left work early one Friday to cash in my present – getting highlights takes about three hours – and as Angelika was washing the color off my hair, I heard a familiar voice.

Me: Richard? Is that you?

Him: Susan? Is that you?

We were both laughing. We had been on our date at the bar just the night before! Richard was getting his hair cut before his business trip and admired my shiny new highlights. Giggling, yet glamorous, I made my way through the rain to Monica’s new store. We were having fun chatting and I was trying to persuade myself that I did not need that fabulous orange handbag when Angelika came through the door! It was her first visit to Monica’s new shop, and she just loved the playful, yet peaceful atmosphere and the word of cuteness.

I had enjoyed my little staycation last month so much that I indulged in a rerun, staying at the little inn on the estuary, where I lounged in the bathtub watching the birds and feeling beautiful. It was the perfect end to a glamorous day.

A YEAR AGO: I got the hell job. Without even suspecting its hellishness. I would soon learn…

*Technically, we just give each other stockings, but there are occasional exceptions made.

Christmas Day dawned both beautiful and cold:

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

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

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

Jessica brought a Christmas drawing for each of us:

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

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

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

A YEAR AGO: A merry Christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas to all of you from all of us!

The glorious Bolshoi Ballet

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day after I got home from my mini break, I put the stockings together (at least, the ones I’m responsible for) with the soundtrack from “A Charlie Brown Christmas” to inspire me.

Everyone gets a quarter and a clementine in the toe of their stocking and a candy cane* at the top, because that’s how my parents did it and it’s nice to have that tradition still.

Last year, I started wrapping the “present-y” things in the stockings, so it makes opening them more fun. It’s a drag when you’re doing it, especially for the wrapping challenged like me, but it’s so worth it when the stockings are opened.

Clyde supervised, much as he supervised Rob during the bathroom renovation. He has a talent for this. He has changed since we lost his brother. He rarely goes outside now. I don’t know if it’s because of the rain (though that never stopped him before), or because he saw what happened to Roscoe or knows on some deeper level, or because he’s sad. He sleeps on my head again, like he did when was a baby, and is a lot more vocal about needing attention and following me around.

He sits on my desk and stares outside, but when I open the door, he won’t go outside. Is he looking for Roscoe? It reminds me of how Yellow Dog still comes around looking for his friend and playmate Schatzi two years after she too vanished into the woods. I would love to know what goes on in their minds.

*In “classic flavor”, per Jessica’s preference. This year I put a roll of SweeTarts in hers and Erica’s. Erica was bemoaning her lack of romantic success recently, and I said it was because she’s like a five pound bag of SweeTarts. She loved this so much that she posted about it on Facebook, so I think she’ll get a kick out of it.

I took a break from my Roscoe-less house and spent a night in the Big Town.

First, I left work early (!) and went to meet Angelika at a lovely, hidden away salon (hidden away in the Big Town rather than the Big Woods). She works there one day a week now, so it will be easier for me to pop in and get beautified now that I work in the Big Town so much.

Angelika greeted me with a warm hug as always. She has such a joyful yet restful presence, the perfect thing at any time but especially for a girl who is fighting the tide of sadness at the holidays. She cut about three inches off my hair and, as always, made it look better than I ever thought possible, while simultaneously lifting my spirits and making me feel hopeful again.

After my glamification, I did a little shopping in the heart of downtown and picked up dinner from the ever-crowded and ever-delicious Piaci’s Pizza, and then headed to the hotel.

From my days at the jobette, I still have many friends in the lodging industry, so I was able to get a lovely room at an equally lovely price. The room looked over a creek and estuary, where ducks met and played in the sunset water:

Looking to the right, there was a peek of ocean past the trestle bridge and historic Highway One. I watched the streetlights and house lights wink on as the pink sunset light faded into darkness.

I took a glass of wine and repaired to the enormous soaking tub with bath salts and bath gel thoughtfully provided:

As I floated in the embrace of the warm water, I felt myself relaxing. I tried to look my Roscoe feelings right in the face, acknowledge them, and let them go, at least for now. I decided: he had an ideal cat life, he was never sick a day in his life, was always loved. I was lucky to have had him at all. And we all know it’s never long enough.

I had dinner while enjoying a “Gilmore Girls” marathon on the thoughtfully provided DVD player, and slept a dreamless sleep. In the morning, I had coffee on the balcony overlooking the estuary, enjoying the view and the playing birds. I went out for breakfast, ran a couple of errands, stopped at the post office to find a boxful of Christmas cards (many of them glittery, which I love) and came home to find Audrey and Clyde waiting for me.

It was a nice little break.

You’d think being heartbroken over losing Roscoe would mean no Christmas decorations, but you’d be wrong. Part of my survival strategy is squeezing every little bit of joy out of every little thing, whether it’s Fred the hummingbird hovering like a jewel outside my office window or cuddling with Clyde before the alarm goes off in the morning darkness.

I decided more light and sparkle were needed, so I hauled out the aged Christmas tree:

and twined lights up the driftwood banister:

I put the wreath on the door:

The mistletoe in the middle is a gift from an 8 year old admirer, “So you’ll get lots of Christmas kisses.”

I realize I never did show you the lights on the tree in the outdoor living room:

So the house is cheerful and sparkly on the rare occasions when the power stays on. It’s been a wild and stormy couple of weeks, in more ways than one.

A YEAR AGO: The horror of interviewing for what would turn out to be the hell job. Ignorance can be bliss, and interviews can be better than the actual jobs.

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

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

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

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

Jellyfish floated in the chilly air:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A YEAR AGO: Post Thanksgiving post.

So…yeah. T Day Eve did not go exactly as planned.

I was delusional enough to think that I could get to work early and leave around noon. It soon became apparent that this would not happen, and I was madly typing up hand-written penciled pages at 3:00 PM. As I did so, a tumbleweed or two drifted past my office, since most of the staff had the sense to take the day off.

As I handed my boss the last page, I asked her when it was due. She blithely replied “A month ago,” begging the question of why we absolutely had to get it done the late afternoon before Thanksgiving, when the person we were sending it to was almost certainly not at work. She then added brightly, “At least you’re leaving early!”

On the drive home, I mentally revised the list of things I could now achieve with the limited time I had left. I applied lights to the tree in the outdoor living room to make it more festive, and then turned my attention to the chestnuts. I soon discovered that keeping them in the pantry was unwise, since more than half a dozen of them were moldy. I cut Xs on the remaining ones so deeply that I practically cut them in half (though it did make it easier to peel them when the time came). I put them in to roast, made an adult beverage, and started on the cranberries.

To make the cranberries, you mince up shallots and zest an orange, then put them in a saucepan with an entire cup of Jack Daniel’s in it, then heat it until it gets syrupy. I was moving the saucepan around on the gas burner when somehow the contents caught on fire and I flambéed it a little. I blew it out, hoping it wasn’t the wrong thing to do, but I am pleased to report that both cranberries and Self are fine.

That was all I could do that evening, so this morning I woke up and roasted carrots, made a delightful spice butter to accompany them, and made two pans of stuffing before stuffing the turkey in the oven. I had a text from a friend telling me that he’s bringing a friend who is, not to put too fine a point on it, a convicted felon. Why not? Bring me your ex boyfriends, your kindergartners, your ex cons. I feel like the Statue of Liberty over here. At least the outdoor living room is ready:

And things are under control inside:

I put my grandmother’s ivory-handled silver in her Wedgwood biscuit jar (circa 1820). The salad dish will hold the roasted carrots and the Majolica jug will have gravy in it. I hope I have enough glasses and plates! Time will tell.

As for me, my hair is curled and I’m wearing lots of diamonds. If not now, when? My mother used to say if your diamonds never see the light of day, they might as well have stayed in the ground. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. And I’m thankful for everything from the turkey in the oven to my sleeping sister who saved a life last night to grumpy Audrey to all of you. Thank you for sharing my adventures. I am thankful for all of you.

A YEAR AGO: You will never guess!

I made a solo excursion to the magical South Coast. Megan was teaching a CPR class, so it was just Wednesday and me driving through the spectacular scenery. The ocean was at its most beautiful, since it was a clear day with a storm coming, which always makes the surf more active and showy:

Pink pampas grass flaunted their plumes by the side of the road, where a flock of wild turkeys meandered and gossiped. A skein of black birds pierced the cloudless sky, unreeling, then flying into a circle, then flying away, all in formation. Dark, wind-tossed cypress trees guarded the neighboring Catholic and Druid cemeteries with their witchy equanimity, and cows and sheep wandered in their meadows as I drove by.

My first stop was the Thai food restaurant, where I was the first customer of the day, ordering fresh spring rolls, Massaman curry, and velvet-fried triple orange chicken with a side order of cucumber salad to go. Dinner’s ready! I stowed it all in the cooler in Wednesday’s trunk and headed back to Point Arena to see Benedict Cumberbatch’s “Hamlet”, streamed live from the National Theater in London.

My original plan was to stop in at Franny’s for a delightful confection and possibly some cute things for Christmas stockings, but when I saw the line at the Art Deco theater across the street, I revised my plan. I had never seen such a line or had to park so far away. For the first time since I left San Francisco, I had to curb my wheels (“Up, up and away” was how I remembered it for my driving test – if you’re parked uphill, point your wheels away from the curb).

As usual in any line, from airports to movies, it took the people in front of me ages to complete their transactions (Why? Why?) and seconds for me. The main seating area looked pretty full, so I ventured upstairs, where I found a seat in the front row of the balcony, which is now my favorite place to sit since tall people can’t block the excellent view. It ended up being standing room only, with people perched on folding chairs as well.

Cumberbatch was a wonderfully pale and intense Hamlet, athletic, funny, charming, tragic, compelling with his beautiful face and expressive hands:

The production looked to be set between the wars in an English country house, though they of course referred to Denmark and Elsinore. Horatio had clearly visible neck and arm tattoos, though the play within a play was in Elizabethan costume. I had forgotten how many common expressions are from that play, such as “primrose path” and “the lady doth protest too much”, and I was surprised by how many of the speeches I knew by heart, since Dad used to recite Shakespeare while cooking. I wish he could have been there.

When I left the theater, it was sort of a shock to return to the bright sunlight and the little city of Point Arena, since I was so deeply engrossed in the play. As I drove homeward in the fading golden and pink light of late afternoon, I thought of all the plays Dad and I had seen together in London and how lucky I am that I can still see London plays here in our little corner of the world.

A YEAR AGO: An unproductive visit to San Francisco. I think it’s the last time I was there. It’s been too long!

Downtown

The friend theme continued into Friday, when I stopped by the jobette to say hello to my former co-workers and enjoy some art and conversation. On the first Friday of each month, the shops and art galleries in the Big Town stay open late, serving wine and nibbles. It sounds kind of silly, saying this about a town of 5,000 people, but it was nice to be out on the busy sidewalks with all the lights on. It felt happy and vital and a nice change from my dark, quiet rural life.

The jobette features a local artist each month, and he or she is on hand to talk about their creative process and answer questions. The woman who finds all these talented people and schedules them to appear was there. She and I pass each other notes via library books, since our hold requests are usually next to each other on the shelf. She started doing this after I left the jobette, and we have kept up the tradition. It was nice to see her in real life instead of in paper form.

Just down the street from the jobette is Monica’s new store, which features beautiful things for the home as well as area rugs. She has an amazing gift for creating a warm, welcoming space, and the store is lovely:

It was also crowded with well wishers and shoppers, and I have to admit that I bought a little something for Megan’s stocking. Christmas is coming!

A YEAR AGO: In limbo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**Sometimes this has backfired on her, though.

A YEAR AGO: At the Fair, of course!