Suzy Says

I had a little more research to do, and this time, it took me south to Anderson Valley instead of north to the Village. Stop me if you’ve heard this before, but it was a beautiful day for a drive. The ocean looked like a postcard, and it wasn’t long before I was driving past the ancient, sky-high redwoods, with the sun flickering through the tree tops. I was pleased to see that most of the traffic was heading the other way, though I was pretty much taking my time and admiring the scenery as best I could while navigating the curvy roads.

Not long after leaving Navarro, where I noticed that the store once again has their barbecue up and going, it was time to put on the air conditioning and be grateful for modern conveniences.

My destination was The Madrones, where Megan and I explored a couple of years ago (has it been that long?). It is a beautiful, Mediterranean style enclave:

including accommodations, tasting rooms for local wine, charming shops, and a restaurant with an inviting, shade-dappled terrace:

You enter the restaurant through a little shop filled with quirky treasures:

I have to admit I picked up a treasure of my own, a little porcelain chrysanthemum. I just fell for it and decided it would be the perfect companion for the orange vase in my living room, which it is:

The restaurant is famous for its wood-fired oven and for using high quality local meats and produce. They have a pizza night on Mondays which I would like to check out. Pizza made in a wood-fired oven is the best.

I got a fantastic sandwich: chicken roasted in the wood-fired oven with smoked bacon, aioli, lettuce, pickled carrots, and herbs, all on a house-made roll:

I now want to learn how to make picked carrots. My good friend A, the queen of all things gastronome, has sent me a recipe to try, so stay tuned on that.

On my way home, I stopped in at Gowan’s, where I got apple cider, fresh walnuts and almonds, raspberries, and strawberries. Just up the road, I stopped to take a picture of these classic beauties, reposing peacefully in someone’s yard:

I was glad to get back to the sea breezes of the coast, but I love visiting the Valley, despite its oven-like heat. I love the rolling golden hills, the undulating waves of green vines, and the deep pools of live oaks. It’s a special place.

A YEAR AGO: Adventures in baking.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Enjoying the quilt show. And the fact that we still had Star.

TEN YEARS AGO: Jonathan’s dog-sitting was a little too adventurous, even for him.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: It’s good when bad neighbors move out.

Oh, dear!

The “low tire pressure” light came on in my car. I have come to learn that this alleged warning sign only comes on when the tire is already in fact flat, or basically dead. I have never once had it come on when there was not a disaster involved.

Fortunately for me, this happened when I was at the gas station near work. I decided that the best thing to do was to take it to the tire shop, which was not yet open, and return later with my keys.

In this, I was correct, because about a block away from the tire shop, I could hear metal on asphalt, never a happy sound or a good sign for a girl’s ever-svelte (and getting svelter) wallet. I barely made it to the tire shop. I rather regretted having a giant pink Kate Spade bag:

full of my laptop, a book, and other things and stuff as well as my lunch as I schlepped to work.

There was much schlepping involved that day, since I had to walk back again to bring them my keys and then return to work, and finally walk over there again after work to pick up Wednesday. They had applied a spare tire, so I had to drive slowly and majestically, trying not to look at the ominous and unnerving “low tire pressure” light on the long drive home. At least it’s tourist season and no one is driving fast.

They ordered a new tire for me and told me that the other ones were healthy, at least for now.

A YEAR AGO: A pretty addition to the bedroom.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Quite possibly the sweetest birthday gift ever. ~Sob!~

TEN YEARS AGO: Our beloved Rob was recovering from his spine surgery.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Adventures with the Lovely Rita. I still miss her.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: A glamorous and highly enjoyable day. I have not changed in 20 years. I still love all the things in this post. Also, someone recently referred me to me as “a 40 year old girl”, which is encouraging when you’re one year away from 60.

I needed to do a little research for a writing project, so I headed to the Village.

It was a beautiful day, with the fog just misting the trees:

On my way in, I stopped by the museum in Little River. It is a modest building, easily missed on a curvy part of the highway. Over its long history, it has served many purposes in our little community, including a place to vote. It was built in the 1800s, and has a remarkable ceiling made of curved pieces cut from a single redwood trunk.

In keeping with my graveyard theme, the museum had an exhibit about the cemetery in Little River, where I have often walked. It is a lovely, peaceful place, and they put in a lot of work to document each grave and find out as much about the occupants as they could. Some were pioneer settlers to this far-flung part of the world. It’s good to know that they are not forgotten.

There were also some historic photos of Hooterville. It never ceases to amaze me that there used to be a bustling lumber mill on the beach under the Hooterville bridge, complete with housing, a hotel, and a store, along with everything needed to mill and ship the mighty coastal redwoods, but there is no sign of any of it now.

When I got to the Village, it was awash in visitors. To be fair, it was a fine summer Saturday, so really, what else would I expect? I did my research as quickly as possible, and popped into the book store to get my birthday gift certificates. I didn’t even bother to pet the Great Catsby, such was my hurry to escape the company of my fellow man. Everyone was in my way as I picked up a few things at the one grocery store, and then a pizza for dinner, even though I had called ahead for the pizza and it was ready and waiting for me.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the Village and back to the Hooterville backwater. You know you are a backwoods-dwelling bumpkin when a bunch of tourists immediately get on your nerves. I couldn’t wait to get back home to the peace and quiet and the kitties.

A YEAR AGO: I never know what I’ll find on my way to work.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Oh, Junapalooza! I miss you!

TEN YEARS AGO: Unboxing the grand old grandfather clock in my old house. I still miss that crazy place.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Nothing goes better with a B movie than an A class cocktail.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Haha! Shocked by our neighbor asking for nearly half a million when she was selling her apartment across the hall from us. Our old place is now worth $1.3 million, even though it still has people above, people below, and no parking space. We paid $200,000 for it back in the dark ages. Or maybe the light ages!

Maybe it’s weird, or morbid, but I have always liked walking in cemeteries. They are peaceful places, and make me feel connected to history. It seems I have made several of these faintly macabre strolls over the two decades (and counting) I have been penning this blog, on both coasts, from Sleepy Hollow to closer to home.

The latest morbid meander was in Anchor Bay, while waiting for the Thai restaurant to open. As befits a townlet the size of Anchor Bay (population 340), the cemetery is on the petite side, and oddly (at least to me), it has houses literally pushed up against the graveyard fence. The cemetery was there long before the houses. Perhaps the answer is the stunning graveside view:

While I enjoy meandering through cemeteries, I don’t think I’d have a lot of enthusiasm for living right next to one, view or no view. At least the neighbors would be quiet.

Little Edna has a quite magnificent marker:

Though the leaf at the foot of the stone has cracked with time:

These are quite poignant in their simplicity:

This couple chose a more humorous memorial:

I am pleased to see that Betty is still dancing in this world and not yet in the next.

Some of the graves had animal themes:

I wonder if this person said they’d die when pigs flew:

It looks like Pat, or his family, also had a sense of humor:

It’s nice to see the connection between the long-ago residents and the more recent ones. It must have been challenging living here in the 1800s. It’s still remote; I can’t imagine how remote it must have been when you had to rely on horses to get here and get around. They must have been strong people back then.

On my way home, I finally grabbed a photo of Point Arena from the south:

For some reason, it reminds me of the white cliffs of Dover. And how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place.

A YEAR AGO: Celebrating my little Clyde’s birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A swarm of bees.

TEN YEARS AGO: Dinner with Erica and Jessica. I miss them.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Dogs and groceries don’t mix.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Haha! I thought gas was expensive at $2 a gallon! It’s now over $4.

Cheers to Me!

With the way Memorial Day fell – closer to my birthday than my sister’s, where it is usually located – I felt like I was hardly working for a little while there. I took time off over the Memorial Day weekend, and my birthday fell conveniently on a Friday, so I took that off, too. Why not?

Also, I am just opposed to working on my birthday, unless I absolutely have to. I figure it’s the one day a year when I should get what I want, no questions asked*. I even left early on my birthday eve, and stopped by Angelika’s place to get my hair cut. It was lovely to sit in her little salon and watch the hummingbirds at the feeder:

And the little quails walking by like little wind-up toys, the plumes on their heads waving in the breeze. I loved my hair:

I always feel better both inside and out after visiting Angelika. There is something about her and the lovely place she lives and works that is just healing to one’s spirit.

On the great day itself, I got up after the sun did – usually I am far ahead of lazy old Sol, though he tends to catch up with me during the summer months – made some coffee, and went back to bed with the coffee and the cats for a while, reading my fan mail and enjoying the peaceful quiet of my house and the beauty of the late spring day unfolding through the many windows.

I set off southwards – I noticed that during my time off, I headed south rather than north, toward the Big Town – and my first stop was at Franny’s Cup & Saucer:

where I got a champagne cupcake with blackberry icing, decorated with rose petals, and a flawless cannelé de Bordeaux. Up next was the Surf Market in Gualala, where I picked up a sandwich and an Orangina to enjoy overlooking the ocean:

Last but not least was Anchor Bay Thai:

Where I picked up the perfect dinner: fresh spring rolls, chicken satay, and Massaman curry. I waited on the patio, which has just a few tables and fairy lights strung around the trees. I have to come back and have dinner there one evening. But on this evening, I brought my fabulous dinner home and enjoyed it with some sparkling pink wine and the sparkling Rear Window. It was a great birthday.

*Of course, I feel that way the other 364 days of the year, but it’s harder to enforce then.

A YEAR AGO: A happy birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Clyde’s birthday. My baby boy.

TEN YEARS AGO: The boys turned one!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Door to door godliness.

I took a couple of extra days off around the Memorial Day weekend (first long weekend of the summer!), so I had five days off in a row. Doesn’t it seem like it should be five days off and two days on when it comes to work? Especially if you got paid for the five days instead of the two?

A girl can dream.

I am pleased to announce that nothing disastrous happened, as it so often does when I have the temerity to take time off from work. No sudden crowns were necessary, and it was not 5,000 degrees. I appreciated this. Also the simple pleasures, like getting up when it was light outside, and even going to the post office.

The post office is closed when I go to work, and closed when I go home, so it’s not easy for me to get there when it is open. I bought stamps and collected some birthday cards and a package, which contained the latest addition to my collection of cute measuring cups (you can see the cute pear measuring cups in the background):

They are embossed with a pretty design and look like little trophies. On the back of the big one, it says “Number 1 Baker” in raised letters. This is patently untrue, but maybe having cute measuring cups will inspire me to cook more.

I also ventured to the nearby town of Elk:

It was a postcard day, with the Pacific a deep and stunning blue, no fog in sight. The rolling hills have turned their summer gold, and are filled with drifts of pink, white, and purple wildflowers, along with bright orange poppies and nasturtiums. The cows and sheep have new babies, and the air is full of bird song.

I picked up a sandwich at the charming Elk Store:

from its quaint vintage display case:

It was a panini with Swiss cheese, cornichons, and pastrami, and it was delicious. I took it to a picnic table overlooking the ocean:

And enjoyed the view as I enjoyed the sandwich:

Even though it was a holiday weekend, Elk was not crowded, unlike most destinations in this resort area. So that was nice, too. Still, I was glad to get back to my quiet house, where all you can hear is the wind in the trees and the birds singing, to do a little gardening and hang out with the kitties.

A YEAR AGO: A look around the garden at the family estate.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Haha! A rare visit to the post office!

TEN YEARS AGO: Visiting a friend’s garden. I seem to have a couple of themes going this time of year.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Birthday plans for my birthday week.

A milestone birthday like 50 deserves some recognition! Fortunately, Megan’s one Saturday off in May was the one right before her big day. So she picked me up that sunny Saturday afternoon and we headed to our favorite seaside bar.

It was the perfect day for a cocktail by the ocean:

The restaurant’s garden was looking lovely:

and the beautiful, long-haired black cat who lives at the restaurant wasted no time in allowing us to pet and admire him. He is a very handsome boy, and he must have a great life, living on fabulous fine dining leftovers and being admired by locals and tourists alike. He basked in the sun, blinking his big green eyes and keeping us company as we enjoyed our drinks and chatted.

On our way to Megan’s place, we stopped for a moment to admire the ocean. Megan said how lucky we are that this is our backyard, and that this wonderful, beautiful place is our local bar. I have to agree.
I took a quick look around the garden at the family estate, picking some arugula and admiring the future pies:

We celebrated with some local sparkling wine and some fabulous pizza from Café Beaujolais, thoughtfully picked up by Rob, who was also my designated driver and tolerant of the girl movie fiesta that went with the pizza. He is the best.

Monica took Megan out for dinner on her actual birthday, so all in all, she had a great 50th birthday. I’m hoping that we can figure out a day to have a family party as well. It’s challenging with our schedules being so different, but it’s a pretty special occasion and deserves to be celebrated. The more celebration, the better!

A YEAR AGO: We lost The Beautiful Harriet. She is still missed.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Some enjoyable time off.

TEN YEARS AGO: A little on the grumpy side.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Enjoying The Brain That Wouldn’t Die. It’s one of my all-time favorite bad movies.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Thinking of my grandfathers on Memorial Day.

Birthday Girl

Today is my sister Megan’s 50th birthday.

It’s hard for me to believe that the little baby who came home from the hospital on my 9th birthday is half a century old on this day. I still remember being called to the office on that bright spring day. I felt so small as I walked down the empty, echoing school hallways*, reviewing my recent crimes in my head and then sorting them by the ones I thought I could have been caught at. I had reached no conclusion by the time I reached the principal’s office.

My criminal musings were ended by the school secretary cheerfully informing me that I had a baby sister. I skipped back to my classroom, slammed the door open, and announced the happy news, which was greeted by “Yay!” from the girls and “Boo!” from the boys.

My first glimpse of my sister was when our parents brought her home from the hospital on my birthday. She was wrapped in white blankets, and was so small! It seemed I had to dig around in the blankets for a while before I found the baby. We were excited that she was a brunette after the rest of us were blonde.

Despite my youth, I took care of Megan as a baby, giving her bottles (she was allergic to formula, and drank soy milk) and changing her and doing the laundry. I was surprised that the smallest person in the family had the most laundry. All those cloth diapers and onesies! I remember the first time she laughed. She was in her playpen, watching the snowball bush outside the window dancing in the breeze.

Megan lived with me during high school, and I had to make decisions about her boyfriend** staying over, how late she could be out, birth control, and minor things of that nature. Don’t forget that I was a mere 9 years older and in my early 20s at the time. There’s a reason that Nature generally does not allow parents to be so young. Looking back, I think I did a pretty good job of fake parenting, and I like to think that I had a little something to do with Megan becoming the amazing person she is today***.

I am so proud of her for living her life with integrity, humor, and love. She has worked in emergency medical services for almost 20 years, and if the shit is hitting the fan, if you have been in a car accident or your loved one is dying or you are giving birth, she is the one you want to have there. She is the best person to be there on your worst day. She is calm, decisive, and commanding, whether driving the ambulance or working in the ER. She takes no nonsense, but she treats patients with respect and compassion. She is beloved by her team at work, where they are like a family. Facing the drama and the long, dark nights together, when things tend to happen, brings you close, like being in battle. And in a way, they are.

She has been married to Rob, our brother’s best friend, for 30 of her 50 years****, and they have grown and supported each other together over the years. The good times and the bad times have just made them closer. As Megan says, whatever life throws at them, they just hold each other’s hands and walk through it together.

With our brother, Megan and Rob have homesteaded their property, living off the grid, digging their own wells, and creating a beautiful vegetable garden, flower garden, and orchard out of inhospitable pygmy. My sister has achieved a lot in her half century on this planet, and I for one can’t wait to see what the next 50 years bring. I am so proud of you, baby sis! And I love you with all my heart.

*Years later, when Megan was in high school and living with me, I would find going to her “parent”-teacher conferences equally intimidating. I always felt like they were going to make me go back to school, since I was clearly impersonating a responsible adult.

****And without our beloved father for 20 of her 50 years. She was out of parents before she was 35. Have you called yours lately?

A YEAR AGO: I know a lot of secrets.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Celebrating Megan’s birthday in style.

TEN YEARS AGO: A rainy birthday for Megan. I see I did not not note it was her 40th.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: The joys of almost dog ownership. I still miss the Lovely (and dignified) Rita.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Feeling proud of Megan on her 30th birthday.

Spring

It was foggier than I expected when I left for work this morning. Even though I have not yet switched from my winter scent to my summer scent, I have stopped wearing my coat. Most mornings, I have the heat on in the car, and in the afternoons, I have the windows down. This is spring in California.

It’s been a beautiful spring. Ever since the cherry blossoms made their billowy pink appearance in February, it’s been a riot of bloom and blossom everywhere, from creamy apple and pear blossoms to blazing California poppies and shy wild irises. Even the orchid finally bloomed after months of being in bud, though it is less showy this year than in years past.

I have really been enjoying spring this year. I am beginning to wonder if it might be my favorite season now. When I lived back east, fall was always my favorite, signaling an end to the hot, humid horror of summer with crisp air and woodsmoke and the brilliance of the changing leaves. But here, spring signals the end of winter darkness, the return of light and the beauty of flowers everywhere, bees buzzing and birds singing. It feels like hope.

A YEAR AGO: Tales from the ER.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Changeable weather.

TEN YEARS AGO: A visit to the City.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: My own campy film festival.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: A movie at the local movie house! Those were the days!

Voilà!

I have been spectacularly demotivated in the kitchen lately. I have not lost my enthusiasm for trading recipes with my BFF Alice and reading them in the missives from the New York Times Cooking editors, but there seems to be a long way between interest and execution these days.

I have been meaning to make my own falafel (how hard can it be?) and tabouli*. I went so far as to get dried chickpeas for the falafel – apparently, using canned chickpeas is the Number One reason that home-made falafel fails – and bulgar wheat for the tabouli, but they continue to languish in the Closet of Doom, alone and unloved. Tidying up the Closet of Doom is another project that I have failed to complete and which remains on my ever-cluttered radar.

While it’s still spring and rhubarb is still in season, I intend to try a recipe for roasted rhubarb cobbler. At least I have not bought the rhubarb for it, since it would likely end up in the compost, where it would probably not delight the ravens and foxes. One of these days/weekends/maybe never…

But for some reason, on Sunday, I decided it was time to make the tourtière that has been under consideration all year. I originally planned to make it for New Year’s, but that resolution faded before the year began, quite possibly a personal best (or worst?) for not keeping a resolution. That sunny Sunday morning seemed like the perfect time.

I used a new to me recipe for the crust, which includes a tablespoon of cider vinegar, and I think that makes it extra flaky. I pulsed everything in the food processor, which makes it easier.

While I was rolling out the crust, I heard a thud. I went over to the sliding glass doors next to the kitchen counter and saw that a very small, very bright yellow-green bird was lying on the deck, having flown into the glass doors. My heart sank, and I thought, That’s a bad sign. It made me sad to see that poor little guy out there. Clyde and Dodge were both fascinated, and for a fleeting moment, I considered letting them out there to put the injured bird out of his misery. I hated to think of him dying slowly out there.

I went back to the pie making, and after a while, checked on the bird. He had moved to a different part of the deck, so I began to hope. After I put the pie in the oven, I looked again, and he was gone! He had recovered enough to fly off! It made me really happy. I’m glad he’s out there somewhere, singing.

*I learned how to make this from another high school friend when we were still in high school. Her father was from Beirut. He used to grow carnations, and when I went to her house, he would always cut some and give them to me, saying, “For you. Very beautiful.” I never knew if he meant me or the carnations.

A YEAR AGO: Celebrating Dodge’s birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A busy, but delightful, weekend.

TEN YEARS AGO: Some yard sale scores.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Dreaming about Mom.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Oh, the things you see in San Francisco when you are out and about when night meets day!

Birthday Boy

Dodge turns five today!

Or five-ish, at least. The vet estimated that he was around two years old when I adopted him three summers ago. I gave him my much-loved American grandfather HoHo’s birthday, May 11, since HoHo loved cats, and he and Dodge are both mischievous, loving rascals who brought love and laughter to me and are eternally happy and optimistic. I think HoHo would be crazy about beautiful, happy little Dodge* and would enjoy his antics.

Lately, I’ve been wondering why Dodge chose that particular day to follow my co-worker home. The employees at the eponymous car dealership had seen him around for weeks (yet they did not see fit to give him food or water, or even call the Humane Society), and he was homeless long enough to be starved, flea-ridden, and partly bald from exposure, even though it was summer. So he was out there for quite a while. What made him decide to follow Susan home that sunny summer day?

I’ll never know, but I do know that he bounced back from life on the streets remarkably quickly. When I first brought him home, I thought he’d hide for days and be skittish, but instead, he napped for a few hours and then joined the family like he had always been there. He took one look at Clyde and decided that he was his new best friend. It didn’t take long to win Clyde over, and now they are inseparable.

Dodge has retained his sunny optimism, his adorable quirk of jumping and rubbing against my legs, his love of being petted, cuddling with Clyde, and basking in the sun. Clyde has adopted Dodge’s habit of pushing his head against me when being petted, and also of rubbing up against me when I’m in the bathroom. It’s fun to see them picking up each other’s little characteristics like that.

Happy birthday, little Dodge! You are a ray of sunshine and happiness. I’m so glad you followed my colleague home that day, just the beginning of our journey together. May it be a long and happy one.

*HoHo’s last car was a red Dodge Dart. He told me that he had always wanted a red car, and it was about time. So I think he would like Dodge’s name, too.

A YEAR AGO: Mother’s Day is a complicated thing for me.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The mystery of the cat in the night.

TEN YEARS AGO: The bumpkinization of Suzy.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A delightful day with a delightful friend.

In 1984, my father was invited to work for a few months at the University of Siena. He brought my mother and sister (who was 13 at the time) with him. I convinced him to take me along (I was 22), due to heartbreak and drama in my life. It was a good decision, not only because the outrageous admiration I received from Italian men was extremely therapeutic, but because living in Italy, even temporarily, was an amazing experience.

April 1, 1984

Two trips to Florence and one to Pisa.

Bus ticket to Florence

We visited the Uffizi gallery and the Raphael exhibit at the Pitti Palace. The rest of the palazzo was shut off because of the exhibit, but the rooms which housed the exhibit were as remarkable as the exhibit itself. I especially liked the first room where the actual paintings were set up, it was like Wedgwood, very textured, white and palest pink. There were no more than 20 paintings, but they were all very beautiful. In the following rooms, there were x-rays and ultra violet photographs of the paintings, examining the paints used, and drawings with the final paintings beside them.

The courtyard of the Uffizi was covered in graffiti, almost shockingly so. Inside the gallery, there was almost too much to take in, but the unforgettables for me were the unbelievable Botticelli “Spring” and “Birth of Venus”, which were breathtaking and almost made me weep for their beauty. The wonderful 5th century BC [actually 1st century] Venus in the Tribuna looked so alive and so beautiful you could fall in love with her. There were two portraits in the Tribuna of women who glowed out of their frames. There were also two wonderful self portraits by Rembrandt, painted 30 years apart. In the older portrait, he looked very dissipated indeed! He must have had a lot of fun in those 30 years.

Florence is a small (600,000 people) city and all the historical buildings and art galleries are quite close together, so just walking around is an experience and gives you a feel for the city and the people. We also explored the market in the Piazza San Marco, which was a great deal of fun and full of lovely things – lace, shoes, scarves, jewelry, gloves, all jumbled together.

It was a long drive to Pisa, but it was a radiant day, and since it was mostly new places en route, I wasn’t bored. When you leave a town in Italy, they have its name on a sign crossed out! We drove through the Chianti wine country, through groves of trees and up and down hills. You seem to climb imperceptibly in Tuscany and then you look down on a splendid view of the country beneath, farms, vineyards, houses. I still cannot get over the way everyone lives in medieval structures. Sometimes, you see an ancient, crumbling building that no one could possibly live in, but then you see the inevitable line of laundry hanging from the window.

Some delightful details en route: two carved wooden dragons over a doorway, a forsythia tree at the base of a palm tree. One English word the Italians seem to have taken to is “jolly”. There are Jolly hotels, cafes, restaurants, even garages!

In Pisa, the only thing to see is the tower, which was much smaller and prettier than I imagined.60% of Pisa was destroyed during WWII, so most of the town is new and not very interesting. The tower is white and grey, and Dad, Meg, and I climbed it – Meg even went up the part you needed a ladder to reach. You get a token and go through a turnstile like the subway.

After that, we drove to the sea. It was the first time Mom had seen the Mediterranean [I spent the summer of 1979 on the French Riviera, where I was shocked by the warmth of the Mediterranean’s waters. Among other things.]! Meg found some beach glass and a little tile worn to a perfect triangle. The sea was as blue as it is in France. It is very beautiful, exciting, yet hypnotic. We drove home past Volterra, a village famous for alabaster and Etruscan ruin

Recovering

Dodge, the formerly stray cat from the mean streets of the Big Town, is a little sneakyboots. If he wants to go outside, he will lurk and plan and plot and find a way to escape from the Big House.

Usually, he makes a break for it during the daytime, when I am preoccupied with importing groceries or exporting compost. I have learned that there is absolutely no point in calling him or trying to catch him. He will come in when he’s good and ready, and not a second before. And when he does, he just strolls in casually, like he’s coming home from work or something.

Clyde is never casual about Dodge’s illicit excursions into the Wide World. He always sniffs Dodge all over carefully to ascertain where he has been and what he’s been doing, but Clyde himself is no longer interested in exploring the Unknown. Losing his brother Roscoe affected him profoundly, more than the near-death encounter with the Slobber Monster. I think Clyde either saw it happen or knows what happened to Roscoe. He definitely stays close to home.

One night, Dodge sneaked out into the darkness. I could not see him or stay awake, so I turned on all the outside lights and hoped for the best. I was rewarded by the sight of my wayward youngest cat sitting on the back porch in the early morning darkness the next day. He came inside and it was immediately clear that he was not his usual self.

Far from being the insouciant boulevardier he used to be, he was quiet and slow moving. He did not eat, and he sat like an uncomfortable loaf of bread instead of curling up on the heater or basking in the sun. I checked him all over for wounds or sore spots, but found none. I was beginning to fear that he had eaten something bad or even poisonous outside, especially when he started hiding under the bed.

I tried not to panic or worry, and my uncharacteristic patience was rewarded by Dodge slowly beginning to seem more like his old self, though, like Clyde, I don’t think he will ever be quite the same. Also like Clyde, I don’t know what happened out there, but it was enough to scare Dodge pretty badly. I noticed that some of the fur on top of his head had gone pure white, like Marie Antoinette’s hair was said to have gone white overnight, and the place where the Slobber Monster grabbed Clyde is pure white against his black fur. I guess it’s a reaction to trauma.

Whatever happened that night, Dodge has, at least temporarily, been unbounced. I’m just glad he’s safe.

A YEAR AGO: The beauty of spring.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A beautiful day in the Village.

TEN YEARS AGO: Getting contacts.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: My street must have had some interesting zoning laws. I imagine it is pretty much wall to wall condos now.

Alice and me at her home in Amsterdam, 1991

I recently came across a box full of my travel diaries, including one with an account of a visit to my best friend, Alice, at her home in Amsterdam in 1991. It is shocking to think that this was 30 years ago. On the other hand, it’s delightful to know that we are still best friends and email each other pretty much every day. In fact, an email notification from her just flashed across my screen as I typed this.

So hop in the time machine and let’s go to Amsterdam, circa 1991!

March 22, 1991

I arrived at Gatwick at 11:10 and thought that I would have a lot of time to kill until the 12:15 boarding time [those were the days!], but by the time I had lined up for a boarding pass, passport control, and security, I had about 10 minutes to wait.

It was worthwhile getting a window seat, because I got to see a lot of England as we flew over – an impossible green divided by roads, hedges, and rivers – the Channel, and some of the Dutch coast and brilliantly blooming tulip fields. Met by Alice at the airport and we were so happy to see each other that we held hands all the way to the train station.

Alice and Claudie’s house is close to the central station in the old (that’s what the “O.Z.” stands for in their address) part of Amsterdam. It is also in the heart of the famous Red Light District, so I got a good view of the girls sitting in the windows.

The house’s foundation is from 1490, but the part where Alice and Claudie live is only from the 18th century. There are heavy wooden beams and many windows. Because of the height of the houses and the narrowness of the staircases, each house has a tall, wide window in front with a hook for a pulley, to lift furniture in and out of the house.

Alice and I went to the famous flower market and bought 40 beautiful tulips for about $9, lipstick pink at the ends and white near the stem. We went for dinner at a local bar and then drank and walked our way through downtown, a real walk on the wild side. We stayed up talking until 2 am. We are so very glad to see each other again!

March 23, 1991

Alice and I spent the day shopping and window shopping. We bought dinner ingredients and for the first time in our long friendship, we made dinner together. Alice was always so unapologetically undomestic when we were younger that it was odd to see her cook. [Now we are constantly exchanging recipes and she is an amazing cook and one of the top restaurant reviewers on London’s Zomato.] We made pasta with pesto and Thai beef salad.

Amsterdam is like a toy town, with narrow streets, sidewalks that are mere suggestions, tall, narrow buildings leaning at odd angles due to extreme age, canals everywhere.

March 24, 1991

Time to head back to London. At about 6:30, Alice suggested we check to see if my flight was on time. It was; I wasn’t. I was convinced for some reason that my flight was at 8:45 pm when it was actually at 7:45 pm. Panic!

We rushed to Central Station and caught the train for Schiphol [The name of the airport; it means “ship’s hold”. The airport is below sea level, at about the level of a sailing ship’s hold.]. Thankful for Dutch efficiency; imagine being in that situation in Italy!

So I did make my plane. I went through the “nothing to declare” line at Gatwick and was stopped. This guy looked through everything. He looked inside each blossom of my light up tulips, shredded a tampon, and noticed that my coat lining had been resewn (by Margaret [my stepmother], mending a tear in my coat before I left), asked where I stayed, how I met Alice, and examined my ticket. It was a really embarrassing experience and I actually felt guilty.

Margaret and Dad think it was because I was coming alone with just a carry on back from a weekend in the drug capital of Europe, but it was hard not to take it personally. I guess it’s all part of the experience.

A YEAR AGO: Weekend cooking.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Jessica became a teenager. It happens to the best of us. Still can’t believe she is now 18!

TEN YEARS AGO: An update on the kitties.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A little culinary showing off.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Sunday morning coffee on the roof deck of my building in San Francisco, overlooking the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge.

Not much to report these days. This morning, the moon was huge and orange, peeking coyly out from billowing lavender clouds as I drove to work. We got some much-needed rain this weekend. It poured for a short time. We need every drop we can get, with a total of a mere 20 inches for the season. We should get more like 50. When Jonathan first moved here – which I realize was nearly 30 years ago! – there used to be closer to 70 inches. Climate change is definitely real.

The search continues for a companion for Stella. It is the first time Megan has had to go out looking for a dog. Usually, they find her, like Star and Stella did, both what we affectionately call “foster fails”. I realized last week marked the day Megan and I took an all-day road trip to pick up Star. I think Star knew that day that she had found her forever home; it just took the humans a little while to figure it out. All our lives changed that day.

I hope we can find someone who makes Stella feel happy and keeps her company.

I was saddened to hear of Prince Philip’s death. I wish he had been able to make it to his 100th birthday and the Queen’s 95th. He was so close! I watched his service, on a glorious spring day at ancient Windsor Castle. I was moved by the beauty of the music he had chosen and the presence of the military to honor his lifetime of service, including active duty, and dedication to Queen and country.

It was touching to see his family accompanying him to the chapel, particularly Princess Anne, who was known to be his favorite and who shared his love of horses and strong sense of duty and integrity. In her face, I saw reflected the same grief I felt for my own father 20 years ago, and the determination of having to get through the ceremony and the lifetime of grief that follows.

When the Queen arrived at the chapel for the service, I could have sworn I saw her instinctively turn and look where Prince Philip should have been, as if seeking his reassurance before facing the ordeal ahead. She looked so small and alone. She has lost her beloved companion of 73 years, the last to call her Lilibet and to remember her as a young woman, to remember her parents. She has lost so much with losing him. My heart aches for the Queen, woman to woman and mourner to mourner.

Somehow, Jessica turned 18! I’m not sure how this happened, or how it happened so quickly. We sent her some gifts, which I hope she enjoyed. We have essentially been out of touch since she and Erica moved, though Erica and I text each other from time to time. I guess it was inevitable that Jessica would outgrow her auntourage. I hope that one day, we find our way back to each other. She will always have a special place in my heart.

A YEAR AGO: Weekend routine.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My house was an internet-free zone. It was harder than you would believe to get it repaired.

TEN YEARS AGO: A sad, but loving, farewell.

TWENTY YEARS AGO: Just another morbid Wednesday.

Can you believe it? My blog is 20 years old on the 20th!

Little did I imagine when I first started writing it that I would still be doing so two decades later. Nor could I have envisaged how very different my life would be. I look back at that girl almost like she was another person. In a way, she was.

That girl had two living parents; was married; owned an apartment in Pacific Heights, arguably the best neighborhood in San Francisco; drove a silver blue 1966 Mustang convertible named Josephine; had a well-paying financial job; and traveled regularly.

This girl has been without her father for 20 years and without her mother for 16 years this August. She is divorced, though on good terms with her ex-husband. I try to stay on good terms with all my ex-husbands. I rent a little house in the deeply rural depths of Mendocino County. My City days are far behind me. I haven’t left said County in years and can’t remember the last time I flew anywhere. I’m back to the 5 day a week grind and am basically a secretary. My car is a 12 year old black Fusion named Wednesday.

Looking back, I do have some regrets, and I may have made other or better decisions if I were wiser or better equipped at the time. But I’m not sure about that. If I had stayed married, I wouldn’t live in this place I love. If I hadn’t lost Roscoe, I wouldn’t have Dodge. Who knows who I would be or where I would be if I had changed even one thing?

I’m happy to live in this beautiful place near my remaining family, to have a job which gives back to our community, and to still be learning and growing as the years go on. Thank you for coming along with me on this adventure. Here’s to the next 20 years!

At our non-existent Christmas, Megan gave me a gift certificate to get my hair highlighted, and I finally got around to cashing it in.

It was a glorious spring day as Wednesday and I headed Angelika-ward. Lately, I seem to be enjoying spring more than usual, even though it means that summer and its attendant heat are on the way. The trees on the curves in Little River are sporting their new spring leaves, an almost achingly beautiful shade of transparent green they only have this time of year. I don’t know what these trees are, but I look forward to their showing off their spring finery every year. It’s our version of Fashion Week.

Cherry blossoms, camellias, daffodils and calla lilies are gone, replaced by bright flags of California poppies and the heady fragrance and exquisite blossoms of my favorite flowers, lilacs. The ocean was a deep, postcard blue, accented by lacy white caps as the water dashed eternally against the dark rocks of the shore. A raven’s dark wings glinted in the sun as he swooped over the Big River bridge, that mystical post where the river meets the sea.

Angelika greeted me with a hug, and we spent the next few hours with the door to her little salon:

open to her beautiful garden:

I brought Angelika a little succulent in a pink egg planter with a little silver bunny for Easter. It just looked so her. I am pleased to say she loved it, and it looked right at home right away:

Her neighbor’s dog Cookie came in for pets. She is white, but has the cutest light brown freckles on her ultra soft ears. It was fun to have her company while Angelika made my hair blonder and better. Maybe I always say this, but I think this was the best color ever. I always feel happier when my hair is brighter. And I always love spending time with Angelika. We have such great conversations, and being around her positive energy is healing to my soul. I will go back soon to get my hair cut.

I went on my way new and improved. My boss asked me to stop by work, and she admired my hair as soon as she saw me. She also gifted me with an adorable Easter basket. Haven’t I always said that grown ups should be the ones to get Easter baskets? It was so thoughtful of her. I am so lucky to have such an amazing boss and such good friends in my life.

A YEAR AGO: Enjoying the beauty around me.

FIVE YEARS AGO: And still more beauty, inside and out.

TEN YEARS AGO: The arrival of spring.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Even errands were more fun with the Lovely Rita by my side.

John’s kittens have been growing by leaps and bounds. They are now 6 months old, and were recently spayed. As might be expected, shy little Daisy was more horrified by the entire process than bold and brave Peach, but they both went running to Mom for comfort when they came home from the vet wearing mini cones of shame.

I have never had the experience of having a mother cat and her children in the same household. I think in the wild, the kids would be independent of Mom and possibly each other. But all living inside in the same house, they have stayed close and still cuddle. Willow still keeps a watchful eye on her progeny:

It must be so fun to see that dynamic. I hope it stays that way.

John and I disagree about whether they are still kittens. I say yes, and he says no. I think they are kittens until their first birthday. They are definitely looking more like cats than kittens these days, though.

As for my boyfriend Frank, he visits John daily. Their relationship has grown as fast as the kittens. At first, it was just for food, but now Frank lets John pet him. And gives him head butts, a sure sign of affection. He used to have sore eyes, which John has treated and improved, though he seems to get into fights occasionally, based on various wounds that have appeared from time to time. I think it’s all part of his rakish charm.

We don’t know where he sleeps, but even when it rains, he is dry when he turns up chez John for pets and food (now in that order). A happy Frank makes me happy, too.

Stella, on the other hand, is not happy. She misses Star so much. We all do. Stella did have a happy moment last week when a friend of Megan’s brought her dog Cooper over to play. Stella seemed like her old self again. It was really nice to see.

Megan is beginning to think that she needs to find a companion for Stella sooner rather than later, even though the humans in the house may not necessarily be ready. Megan has a line on a male foster dog who might be right for their household. You know how Stella loves the boys. Stay tuned!

A YEAR AGO: A well-traveled clock.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Nothing like having dinner made for you by someone else, I always say.

TEN YEARS AGO: A was recovering from her 3 month long hospital ordeal. She has never been the same, but I am still thankful that she is still with us. We email nearly every day.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I still love this vase, made by the talented and handsome Aaron Oussoren. You can see more of his work here. As for the vase, it’s currently residing next to my TV, giving a welcome pop of color to the room.

When I arrived at work yesterday, I was somewhat taken aback to see that the door was ajar. It was even more unnerving since Daylight Saving Time plunged us back into morning darkness, which we all know is entire evil point of it.

The door needs an ID badge to open, and opens and closes (at least, theoretically) automatically, with no human intervention needed, other than the application of the company-issued ID card (from the outside) or a sweep of the hand past the sensor (on the inside). It is supposed to be touchless.

The alarm is right inside the door, and it was turned off. You need a special assigned code to turn it off. Hmm.

I closed the door manually, and then called out for the coworker who often arrives around the same time I do, even though Wednesday was the only car in the parking lot. I walked through the clinic, but it was a human-free zone at that early hour. I was relieved that there were no unauthorized visitors wandering the halls, but I was also wondering, as Iggy Pop would put it, what the hell? What the heck?

I later learned that another colleague had arrived early that day, done a few critical things, and then gone to get coffee, setting the stage for the mystery. She thought the door had closed behind her, and maybe it had, and then popped open again. The doors were easier to deal with and rely on when they worked by hand instead of (allegedly) automatically, in my change-resistant opinion.

A YEAR AGO: Thinking about Mom.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A field trip to Willits.

TEN YEARS AGO: A different kind of mystery.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Come to Tuscany with me, circa 1984.

A final entry in Jonathan’s epic road trip diary. I hope you have enjoyed his adventures as much as I do.

Dateline: Near Angel’s Peak, NM, coordinates 36.546576 / 107.863026, elevation 6,591′.

After our refreshing stay in a hotel we were ready to get back on the road. We stopped for fuel and groceries and then headed towards Chaco Canyon. I have heard so much about it that I hoped it would not disappoint.

The first bit of of a drive was quite easy, but as we got closer the road went to dirt. Not long afterwards it started in with washboard, the kind that will rattle the fillings out of your teeth and shake your vehicle to death. When confronted with washboard like that you have two choices: You can either crawl along very slowly or you can go faster and float over the top. I think you can guess which option I chose. The reason is that the average speed of a vehicle on the road determines how far apart the washboards are. If you go faster than average you go from the top of one washboard to the top of the next, skipping the trough. If you go slower you give your suspension a chance to react. But if you travel the average speed you will be visiting the dentist to get your fillings replaced.

Sadly, the visitors’ center was closed. Luckily, they had maps outside so Rio didn’t have to suffer from map deprivation. We scoped out the map and decided a plan of action to see as much as we could while we were there. We headed out for our first hike, which was close to the visitors center. A short walk and there were ruins right in front of us. I paused as I was about to duck through the doorway. There was something special and humbling to be the next in a long line of people to have passed through that doorway. I could imagine the pride and satisfaction with which the builder of this doorway must have felt when they went through it for the first time. I could image how grateful people felt going through that doorway when the weather was bad, so happy to be sheltered. And then how ordinary it became to do so over the centuries that followed.

The Anasazi who built these vast ruins did so over about 300 years, from 850 AD to around 1250 AD. At that time they inexplicably abandoned this center of spirituality, government and commerce. No-one knows why they disappeared or where they went or what happened to them. It must have been something they didn’t anticipate as you don’t build such a remarkable city with the intention of abandoning it.

As we continued to explore the ruins my respect and awe continued to build. The elaborate buildings built with such skill and engineering are a testament to the people that built them. They have far outlasted the modern construction of Fort Bowie which was built with modern tools and methods. The natives here knew how to use the materials around them to build something that would stand the test of time.

While we could have spent more time here it was getting late and we needed to find a place to land for the night. Here I have to give credit to an app called iOverlander. It showed a place not too far called Angel Peak. So we decided to go and give it a look. We found it easily and it was a short drive out a good gravel road. We found a nice little spot and parked Moby and went for a walk to see where we were.

In these reports I feel like I am running out of superlatives. Outstanding, beautiful, awesome, amazing, breath-taking, I feel like I have over used all of them in these reports. I can’t help it though as we are going through some very special places. As we walked up towards a little point I looked over at Angel Peak and was once again stunned and literally stopped in my tracks, struck dumb by the view before me. Off in the distance slightly above us was Angel Peak and about 1,500 feet below us were the most amazing badlands. Angel Peak actually looks more like a medieval fortress to me. It has towers and walls, what looks like a pyramid on one end and a set of stairs that a giant could have used. The badlands are impossible to describe, rough, tortured ground with some many bands of color and hills and washes that you really do just have to see them.

Until we meet again,

Jonathan