Suzy Says

Vanlife

Jonathan and Rio are off on an adventure, camping in their van. They started out in the desert, and I thought you might enjoy hearing about their adventures, which he somehow emails to us via radio. That, and things like getting the Predicta working, are above my pay grade and intellectual capacities. I will just say that I am happy to hear from them on the road and am also enjoying the pictures.

Dateline: Mojave National Preserve, 3/8/21, coordinates 35.168996 / 115.821258

After a too short but lovely visit with the L.A. crew we headed out on the road trip proper. We got off the highway at Baker, CA, and immediately were on a road less traveled. Our objective was to find the cinder cones we had seen on the map. After about 20 miles or so we saw them and began to look for a spot to camp. We found a great little spot and got Moby[their camping van, seen above] parked. Naturally we wanted to go investigate the cinder cones in the distance so off we went. (with the coordinates above you can find the very cinder cone we climbed!)

Cinder cones are what is left from where the molten core of the earth spewed molten lava. They are the simplest type of volcano where there is just a single vent for the lava to follow. The ones here are just a few hundred feet tall. As we started hiking towards the cinder cone we saw that all the rocks here are the volcanic type. When you look at them you can see they were once liquid and that as they dried gas was escaping. They are blob-like and have many little holes from the escaping gases. We will bring you some to see. Holding these rocks you can just imagine the ancient past: The cinder cones spewing forth red hot lava, thick smoke everywhere. Liquid rock raining down, hardening as it falls. Dinosaurs rampaging and stalking around, fiercely roaring. Primitive man, dressed in leopard skin loincloths, armed only with spears, desperately hunting the T-Rex hoping to avoid becoming dinner while getting some for themselves

Oh wait. Man and dinosaurs were never on the earth at the same time. And probably there were no T-Rex around here either. Still, it makes a great image to think about as you contemplate the volcanic rocks. We continued to hike and got to the base of the cinder cone. There is the remains of a road going up the cone, left over from some sort of mining operation in the past. It isn’t easy to climb as the small volcanic rocks make a sort of large sand and are pretty slippery. We worked our way up until we had a nice view of Moby off in the distance. We headed back down, got to Moby and began to settle in for the night. We got the antenna up, the tables and chairs out and made dinner. Which was chicken cacciatore, chicken thighs browned and then simmered in our garden sauce, served over rice. Yum!

This morning, delightfully, we don’t really know where we will end up later. Somewhere within the Mojave preserve, we shall just have to see what we see. Until then,

Jonathan

A YEAR AGO: My traveling companions

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful event at Monica’s delightful store.

TEN YEARS AGO: The horror of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A slight improvement.

Star was feeling under the weather, and then she started gagging and making coughing noises. A concerned Megan took Star to see Dr. Karen, and tests revealed that Star secretly had cancer somewhere – we don’t know where – which has spread into her lungs, which was causing the coughing and gagging.

This was a staggering blow to Megan, who adores Star and assumed she had a few more good years with her beloved companion. Faithful readers may recall the Great Dog Rescue Adventure, eleven years ago next month, when Megan and I spent the day driving to Colusa to pick up Star and bring her home with us. I think it was around 8 hours of driving.

I also think Star knew that Megan was her person, even though Megan didn’t. When we went to get Star, we thought that Megan would foster her until a permanent home could be found. When we stopped to get gas, Megan went inside the gas station, and Star immediately jumped into the front seat, her eyes glued to where Megan had last been seen. They had only known each other for a few hours at this point, but Star had clearly decided that Megan was her mama and that was it. To this day, Star still does the same thing if Megan leaves the car with Star in it.

Star’s original owner jumped off the cliffs into the ocean and Star tried (and failed) to rescue her, despite the fact that the owner was, to say the least, not kind to her. Star was sent to live with the owner’s boyfriend, who kept up the tradition of treating Star very badly indeed, so we were glad to take her away from all that.

She certainly happily hopped into my car that day, and I truly believe that my being there when her bad old life ended and the new fabulous one began has never been forgotten by Star. No one is ever as happy to see me as Star is.

I have been stopping by on my way home to visit with Star while we still have her. She is on Predisone, which seems to be helping. Her breathing sounds a little weird, and she is subdued. She is still happy to see me, her tail wagging excitedly, but she is not as bouncy. I think both she and Stella know what is happening. Maybe they can smell it or something. Star is lying close to Stella, and Stella is bathing her and generally fussing over Star.

But Star is still happy. She is riding in the golf cart:

We don’t know how long we will have with her, but we will enjoy every moment.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A stormy day.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A really bad case of the flu.

Seems we’ve all been wondering what day it is. Even those of us who have never stopped working never seem to know what day or time it is. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what time of year it is, too.

I’m not alone in this. Here are some messages from the local message boards:

Today’s Date Is?(subject line; nothing in body of message)

Response 1:

Medjool dates grow in Dateland Arizona. It’s in Yuma county. I drove thru there on the way to New Mexico from San Diego.

Response 2:

Today’s date is Medjool.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medjool

Medjool is a large, sweet cultivated variety of date (Phoenix
dactylifera) from the Tafilalt region of Morocco, also grown in the
United States, Israel, Iran, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, Jordan, Palestine.

The variety is planted both for harvesting and for landscaping. The
Medjool is a distinct landrace, described as producing “large soft
fruit, with orange-yellowish flesh, and a mildly rich and pleasing flavor.”

Israel, with its advanced wastewater recycling technologies, currently
owns more than 60 percent of the global Medjool market share, making it
the largest exporter of Medjool dates in the world.

You’re welcome.

Response 3:

By way of our old and dear departed friend Yogi Berra.

Somebody once asked Yogi what time it was.

He looked back at the fellow and without skipping a beat replied:
“You mean right now?”

Response 4:

Time is….of the essence! So I suppose it’s one of those new perfumes at $38 per ounce?

Response 5:

Right on schedule!

A YEAR AGO: Those naughty kitties.

FIVE YEARS AGO: An update from the local message boards.

TEN YEARS AGO: My dear friend A was finally released from intensive care. I continue to be grateful that she survived.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A little under the weather.

It was a beautiful day, and it had been a long time since I had ventured down to the south coast. It seemed like a good idea to head that way.

I tried not to think about how little rain we have had so far this season: only about 16 inches. It should have been more like 50 at this point in the year. I am afraid that there is a drought and a bad fire season in our future. But I pushed those thoughts aside as I headed down the Ridge, passing the wild turkey family hanging out together by the side of the road.

The ocean was feeling pretty that day, turquoise with foamy, lacy white waves and whitecaps. There were merry drifts of yellow daffodils, waxy white calla lilies, and billows of pink flowering cherries in the fields beside the highway. The afternoon light was golden on the rolling hills and the windswept cypress trees arching over the road. I love those tree bowers.

I have wanted to take some pictures of the signs on the trees approaching Point Arena, and this was finally the day:

I love them and how they tell everyone, as Springsteen put it, “who we are, what we’ll do, and what we won’t”. The signs have also thanked fire fighters and first responders.

I ordered Thai food from Anchor Bay and then headed down the road to Gualala while they cooked it for me. I grabbed a BLT and an Orangina* in the Surf Market and had a little picnic overlooking the ocean. It was windy, but beautiful. I get the feeling that winter is nearly over, though I could be wrong about that.

I picked up my dinner to go, and went back the way I had come, past the fields of cows, hills glowing as the sun began to sink into the ocean. I still got home before it was dark, though dinner was later than the cats would have liked. I enjoyed the Thai food with a glass of pink sparkling wine and Pacific Heights, a movie set in (though not filmed in) my old ‘hood, and which I hadn’t seen since I actually lived there. It was a fun end to a good day.

*I first had Orangina 40 years ago, when I was an au pair in Nice, on the beautiful French Riviera. It was love at first taste. I still love it, though I don’t have it very often. When I do, it always brings me right back to those long-ago summer days.

A YEAR AGO: A lovely dinner with my brother and his girlfriend.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Goodbye to beautiful Monterey.

TEN YEARS AGO: The excitement of snow!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Musings on education.

There Is not much to report from my little corner of the world these days. It’s been more hamster wheel-ish than usual, long days at work then falling into bed, often without bothering to eat, then getting up and doing it all over again. On the weekends, my sloth is pretty much out of control. Sometimes I just stay in my PJs and sit in bed all day, answering my fan mail and reading. The cats are all for this, and contribute to the general lack of activity by staying with me, napping and looking outrageously cozy as only sleeping cats can.

Somewhere along the line, I seem to have lost my cooking mojo, as well as my interest in eating. I can’t imagine actually doing project cooking, like tourti?re or making bagels. I can’t even be bothered to make (or eat) dinner half the time.

Despite my lack of interest in utilizing my teeth these days, I found that I needed yet another crown. This is the fourth one, which seems excessive to me. I wonder if this is a sign that I am falling apart and/or getting old. They seem to be coming thick and fast these days. I hadn’t even finished paying for the third one when I had the fourth one installed. The bills are almost as painful as the shots needed for successful crown installation, and are big enough that there should be at least some jewels involved.

Meanwhile, over the family estate, there is actual internet that actually works! They were subjected to the horrors of satellite internet. Faithful readers may recall how little I enjoyed satellite internet. It’s very expensive and the service is horrible. Now that Megan is working at home for Stanford, she exceeded the teeny data limits and got slapped into internet prison. Much like regular prison, you can pay your way out, but that doesn’t always stop you from ending up back there.

A new service called Starlink came along (no relation to the actual Star), and it works at least as well as the internet at my house, maybe even better. So Megan can get her work done with impunity. She is hoping that the projects she is working on for Stanford will lead to other work like that that she can do at home. I hope so, too.

A YEAR AGO: It was eerily sunny then, too.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Stormy weather.

TEN YEARS AGO: Baking cookies is not one of my talents.

My good friend A was born on Valentine’s Day, an unfortunate date for a dedicated foodie like her, one of the top restaurant reviewers in London on Zomato. On Valentine’s Day, restaurants are full of amateur eaters, there is scarcely a reservation to be found, and you are likely to be presented with a “special” menu instead of the regular one. I’m sure she also receives the dreaded combo gift, much like those who are unlucky enough to be born anywhere close to Christmas. All right-thinking people know that a birthday gift is separate from a Christmas gift. I am lucky that my birthday is situated six months from Christmas, for optimal gift-giving. I have always found my birthday to be completely satisfactory.

On these Valentine-adjacent days, I look back and realize that Love is not something I am particularly good at. I was never one of those bridey girls, with wedding fantasies and dreams of gowns and bridesmaids. I never wanted to get married. I believe that you should be with someone until you don’t want to be, and that involving the state and/or church and/or everyone you know with unrealistic promises of forever is setting yourself up to fail. So it’s probably not all that surprising that I ended up getting divorced, though it may be surprising that I stayed married for 14 years or so.

I don’t consider that a failure. John and I had many happy years together, and he is a very special person. I am still his emergency contact, and if he called me in the middle of the night and needed me, I would not question it as I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I will always love him in my own way. I have no idea how he feels about me, since we don’t talk about that kind of thing, even though we are in regular email touch, especially since he keeps me updated on my new love Frank and the happily flourishing kittens.

When I was young, A, who has been my best friend since we were about 17, was a model, so I was around a lot of guys who liked hanging around models. I was never intimidated by the models. I knew what they looked like without the makeup and lighting, and also I just enjoyed them, like flowers or pretty scenery. I still got a lot of male attention in those days, and my general strategy was to go to the guy’s place so he did not know where I lived, in order to avoid his showing up again. I rarely, if ever, spent the night.

I did have a couple of guys who stalked me, one of them showing up at my job when I wouldn’t call him back and the other one not only doing that, but standing outside my house and also telling me places he had seen me. Unfortunately, Guy Two and I had crazy chemistry together, so that drama went on longer than it should have*. He stood me up one Valentine’s Day, and my next-door neighbor at the time, who happened to be A’s ex-boyfriend (her way of breaking up with him was to move to Europe. Neither of us were good at ending relationships) came by with a heart-shaped piece of coke to cheer me up. Hey, it was the 80s!

Looking back at my extremely checkered (to the point of being tartan) past, it’s clear that relationships are not my forte. We can’t all be good at that kind of thing. At least I had the sense not to have kids. Can you imagine?

*He also got into a fist fight with one of the vice presidents at my office Christmas party once. I don’t know if it’s more amazing that I didn’t get fired or that I didn’t break up with him then.

A YEAR AGO: A power outage and a sink full of sewage. How romantic is that?

FIVE YEARS AGO: Driving around with boys.

TEN YEARS AGO: The excitement of snow! Probably not exciting to those of you where it’s a regular occurrence.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Walking the lovely Rita in the park. I miss her.

I noticed this morning that I could actually see the ocean as I drove past Van Damme, so the madness of the twice-yearly time change can’t be that far off. It took me a while to realize that the entire goal of said time change is to plunge me back into morning darkness at the first sign of a ray of hope of morning light.

It also makes me realize that despite what the Groundhog says about the winter (maybe his predictions only apply to his neighborhood), there isn’t that much left, and our rain opportunities are running out. Cherry trees are in full pink bloom, calla lilies have begun to unfurl their waxy white blossoms by the side of the road, and spiky iris leaves have joined the happy yellow daffodils.

So far, we have only received about 14 inches of rain this season. Some of the fields have not completely changed from their “golden” summer coast to their green winter wear. Not that I’m complaining, but we haven’t had any power outages so far this season, since there haven’t really been any storms. I am not in the correct mental state to face a power outage – that PSPS seems to have scarred me for life – but I am also worried about the lack of rain and what it means for the upcoming fire season. We should get more like 50 inches of rain in a winter, and I don’t think we are going to make it up in what remains of the winter, even if the Groundhog is right in his predictions.

A YEAR AGO: A confession.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful day in Point Arena with good friends.

TEN YEARS AGO: The first week at the jobette.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: You have been warned.

My Proudest Achievement

I have noticed that when I tell people stories about my childhood which I think are funny, they often get a horrified, yet struggling to be polite, look on their faces. It’s only at this fairly advanced stage in my life that I realize that what I considered benign neglect by my parents is considered just plain neglect by others. Also that their abandonment of their parental duties is not the way most people do things.

When my sister Megan was born, I was about a week away from turning 9. She came home on my birthday – in those long-ago days, a recovering mother was allowed to, well, recover a bit and enjoy the assistance of trained nursing staff after the ordeal of giving birth. In 1971, it was not as common as it is today to have a baby in your 40s, so Mom had a lot to recover from, including her second Caesarean section.

Even by the standards of the time, I was a naïve child, and I never wondered how the baby came about or how she arrived. Nor did I really think about my mother’s increasing size. I think I thought we got her at the hospital. When Mom came home, she went to bed and stayed there for the rest of the summer, about three months. I thought that was just what happened when you had a baby. Now I understand that she had very serious post-partum depression and never received the help she needed.

So there I was, 9 years old, giving the baby her bottles (soy milk; Megan had a lot of allergies), changing her and dealing with her cloth diapers, and doing the laundry. I even did the ironing, having been taught by my Victorian English grandmother the correct way to do this, including Dad’s shirts (when I was in college, he would save them for me to iron when I came home to visit). I remember thinking that Megan was the smallest person in the family, but had the most clothes.

When Megan entered her teen years, Dad and Mom had separated. Dad moved back to his native England, and Mom’s mental health issues made it impossible for her to parent Megan. So I moved from one city, where I had a good job and was very happy, to another, in order to take care of Megan. I was lucky that my job not only allowed me to move and keep my job, but even paid my moving expenses.

I had a hard time persuading Dad to give me money for rent and food. I would not have rented a two-bedroom apartment if I weren’t taking care of his child, and that child needed to eat. Eventually he agreed to this logic. He should have been grateful that he didn’t have to deal with birth control and parent-teacher interviews like I did. Whenever I went to the meetings at the school, I was struck by how it smelled the same as when I was in high school, along with an irrational fear that they would discover I wasn’t a real grown up and make me go back to school again.

I did my best, and I think Megan turned out pretty well. I am really proud of her. Whenever I get asked in job interviews what achievement I am proudest of, I always think (but don’t say), that it was raising Megan to be the amazing person she is.

Someone to whom I told this story recently pointed out that while I am not technically a parent – and at this point, I never will be – I have had some of the experience of being one, from caring for Megan as a baby and then as a teen. I had never thought about it that way before.

FIVE YEARS AGO: It seemed more like spring.

TEN YEARS AGO: My first day at the jobette.

Peach and Willow

John’s kittens are growing by leaps and bounds and purrs, as kittens do. Their personalities are still emerging, but it seems that “my” kitten, Daisy (I named her and secretly feel like she is mine in some way) is, like me, a little nervous about life in general, preferring to stay on the safe side, whereas her sister, Peach, is bold and adventurous. As John puts it, Peach is becoming a force to be reckoned with. Given time I’m pretty sure she could escape from Alcatraz.

John described this photo as follows: Here’s Peach trying to break out of the big house once again this morning, with a dirty screw watching her every move:

As most girls eventually do, Peach and Daisy have a crush on an older guy. In their case, it’s Ash, who is not just handsome, but tolerant of their affections. He may even enjoy it, while being too cool to admit that he does. Here’s Ash tolerating Daisy’s hero worship:

John also says, When the kittens wake up now (either in the morning or after a nap) they go utterly bananas, running and playing and making huge messes. It’s hard to believe when you see how cute they look like this:

I’ll let John have the last word. A final note – Peach smells like Pez candy.

A YEAR AGO: Surprise! A new phone!

FIVE YEARS AGO: Enjoying the beauty of the fine woodworking show.

TEN YEARS AGO: My beloved friend A was finally (more or less) out of the woods. And I was starting work at the jobette!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Shopping at the 99 cent store. Not even the dollar store.

This morning, I had a magical moment while driving to work in the early morning darkness. As I reached the intersection of the highway and the old Ridge, I saw a magnificent stag standing calmly in the turning lane. He was unafraid of my car lights, and merely inclined his majestic head as I passed, bathed in golden light.

Usually, I worry about hitting a deer while driving, but not this time. It was like I somehow saw a private moment in that deer’s life, and something about the way he was standing in the middle of the road in the darkness made me certain that he would continue on his way, unhurt, wise to the ways of humans.

I am always on the lookout for deer, and am secretly convinced that hitting one with the car is much the same thing as when my siblings lived at Pier 39 and used to say of falling in the water, “There’s them that has and them that will”. In both cases, I remain in the “them that will” category, and in both cases, I fervently hope I remain there.

And much like I was darkly warned about mice years ago. There’s Never Just One. So if a deer meanders across the road, or appears in the headlights, or is hanging out on the side of the road, it’s wise to wait and see if he brought some friends, because the chances are pretty good that he has.

My siblings have a less romantic view of deer than I do. They consider them relentless garden destroyers and have fenced accordingly. I do have a fence around what passes for my garden, but I’m not always conscientious about closing the gate, and my geraniums paid the price. The deer ate all the leaves off of two of them – deer’s lack of temperance when nibbling on the landscape is one of my siblings’ objections to them – and though they are now recovering, I am trying to do better at keeping the gate closed.

The possibly apple or possibly crab apple trees next my house are almost as popular with deer as they are with the Bear. I have seen them leaping up gracefully to capture a piece of fruit, which they then eat daintily. They also have the added virtue of leaving the garbage alone, a trait for which I am grateful.

So I will continue to enjoy the sight of deer wandering down the driveway, and keep an eye out for them when I’m on the road, hopeful that I will never be “one that has.”

A YEAR AGO: Some cancelled plans.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Adventures in cooking.

TEN YEARS AGO: The horror of my longest-time friend’s near-fatal mystery illness. Still so grateful she survived.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Even zombies need credit cards.

They always say that no one is as zealous as a convert, and I think in my ex-husband’s case, that is true.

When we first met, he told me that he did not like cats. My view was that he would have to get used to my cat, Buddy, who was already the man in my life. I happened to be there when Buddy was born, and I fell hopelessly in love with him from his first breath, despite his then somewhat alarming appearance. He later became majestic and regal:

Basically, it was love me, love my cat.

So John, being the nice guy he still is, decided to he would have to endure Buddy’s presence. Little did he suspect that Buddy would become the gateway cat. The first one’s free!

It didn’t take long before John’s disdain for cats turned to love for Buddy in particular, and eventually, to all cat-kind in general. Our opinions diverged on this road at about the 4 cat mark. Despite currently having three cats, I still believe two is the right number. John believes it’s more like a dozen. Since he’s on his own and can please himself, I suspect the number of felines currently residing with him is higher than I would like. He also looks after neighborhood strays.

The most recent stray to cross his path is this charmer, seen here with a grain of rice on his adorable nose after John fed him:

It was pretty much love at first sight for me when John sent me Frank’s photo. John calls him Frank, “because he’s old and has blue eyes”, and despite my earlier stated opinion, I would love to have him join my cat family. Perhaps it’s best for all concerned that this is not possible, but I would dearly love to cuddle Frank and kiss his beautiful scarred ears and head. I have to settle for loving him from afar, but John sends me photos and videos so I can see his progress.

Much like Henry, he seems to have had a tough life and is slow to trust. But I am hopeful that food and affection will make him at least trust John and make his life a little happier.

A YEAR AGO: Good times with good friends.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Salon adventures

TEN YEARS AGO: A happy day, with a cameo from Miss Jessica. I miss her!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Excuses for my absence.

I had a bit of an adventure getting to work today. As I approached Dark Gulch (a long, yet sharp curve which many drivers underestimate and which is deeply shadowed by tall trees, hence the name), I saw a brightly lit scene with firemen – never a good sign at 6:15 am, or anytime, really. It was my considered opinion that whatever was happening down there was not going to be fixed in time for me to get to work on time.

I turned Wednesday around and hailed the fireman who was controlling the as-yet nonexistent traffic, asking him what was going on. He said a big rig overturned and was leaking fuel. It seemed my original assessment was correct and it would be a while, so I headed back the way I came, toward the Road to Rio’s, just north of the Hooterville Bridge.I realized that I had probably not gone to Rio’s house all of last year. It had definitely been a while. One good thing about driving in the dark that early in the morning is that you can drive down the middle of the narrow, winding, steep road with impunity. If there’s oncoming traffic, the headlights will warn you.

The road seemed much longer than I remembered, and since it was unfamiliar, with trees looming over it, it felt a little creepy, too, like the setting of Stephen King story. Little did our heroine suspect that an unexpected detour would send her face to face with…murder! Of course it didn’t, but I was glad to see the lights of the Little River airport (it’s very small and only for private planes), knowing that I could soon turn left at the Y in the road and start following it to where the road meets the highway at the scenic cemetery.

I felt like I had spent a long time driving over the river and through the woods, but I still made it to work by 7:00 am. A small victory!

A YEAR AGO: Enjoying a play and other delights.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Things were in flux at work.

TEN YEARS AGO: Who doesn’t need a Hello Kitty bag?

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A delightful visit to my beloved friend K’s gracious oasis. Those were the days!

The library board’s annual meeting falls on the second Saturday in January. I’m not sure how or why this was decided, but presumably the decision was made by persons who do not live in Hooterville, do not work full time in the Big Town and do not drive 250 miles a week to do so. Pretty much the last thing I want to do on any given Saturday is get in the car and trek to the Big Town, especially if I am required to give a speech, which I am at the annual meeting.

Others may not agree with me, but I was glad to do the annual meeting by Zoom, since I didn’t need to leave home. Despite having to appear on camera – it is basically impossible to run a meeting by phone – I didn’t bother with make-up, and I wore regular weekend clothes. The library board is used to seeing me in full faux adult armor, since I either go to the meeting from work or Zoom from my office.

No one commented on my relaxed look – I did brush my hair! – and I did the Zoom meeting outside on the deck in the full glare of the sun that day, since the boys were doing something noisy inside. The only outlet on the back porch is located in a place where I had to sit facing the sun. I was so suffused with sunlight that my features were basically indistinguishable, which was fine with me.

After two years as the board president, I decided it was time to step down from my lofty office. They had never had a board president who worked full time before, and I’m here to say there’s a reason for that. It was too much responsibility on top of my demanding job, which has only grown more demanding lately*. I also think two years is a long enough term, though there are no term limits. A project for this year is revising and updating the bylaws, and perhaps this is one of the items that could be included.

I felt that I left on a high note. We had finally gotten the decrepit house next door torn down to make way for eventual expansion of the library. The demolition included salvage of some first growth redwood which can be used in the new building, and the project was handled sensitively and well by a local craftsman. On the last day of the old year, I received word that the library was the beneficiary of a patron’s estate to the astonishing tune of $470,000, a wonderful way to end the old year and start the new.

I will stay on the board but will be glad of the reduced time and duties needed. As when reading a good book, I am looking forward to what happens next.

*The finance person at work recently told me that I worked more hours last year than any other hourly employee, so I’m not imagining this.

A YEAR AGO: An in person annual meeting at the library.

FIVE YEARS AGO: I wouldn’t be Me if I weren’t having car trouble.

TEN YEARS AGO: A beautiful day.

Lately Danielle’s cat Kiki has been around more, often in the early morning darkness, which does a creditable job of impersonating midnight. Her white fur shows up against the darkness as she slinks around from the front door to the side deck off the kitchen to the back door.

I’m not sure if her visits are because Danielle is in Hawaii and she is lonely, but I always wish I could pet her. I don’t want to encourage her visits, since I’m always afraid that one of my cats will get into a fight with Kiki. After persuading Danielle to let me keep my cats, it might be hard to get her forgiveness if one of my cats scratched her cat. The time that Audrey escaped, I narrowly averted a catfight by removing Audrey from the scene. My next-door neighbor (and Danielle’s son) Alex told me that Dodge had wandered over the last time he got out and Alex shooed him away to avoid a fight.

I think Dodge is still interested in the fight, though. Whenever Kiki appears, he is the first to run to the door where she is. This morning, they were growling and at each other and basically fighting through the glass. They fought through the kitchen window screen so much that the screen was destroyed (Rob just hauled the sad remains to the dump last weekend). At some point, I will have to replace it. I am hoping that Rob’s Robness will come up with window screens that are Dodge and Kiki proof. It would be great if so. I’d love to be able to open the bedroom windows on summer nights once things have cooled down, knowing that Dodge could not tear the screen out and jump down. It may be a lot to ask, even for Rob.

I wonder if Dodge is just more territorial from living on the mean streets of the Big Town. Or maybe it’s just his youth and nature? I’ll never know, but I will have to be extra careful to keep him as far away from Kiki as possible, even when she stops by for a visit.

A YEAR AGO: Assuming office is not without its challenges.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Lots of travel for Megan and Rob. So far, he has managed to avoid more surgery.

TEN YEARS AGO: There’s always something blooming in and around Hooterville.

Most of the year, I set off for work in the darkness. There might be three months or so when this is not the case. If you don’t live in the country, it will be hard for you to understand how very dark the darkness is. There is no ambient light, so the stars, moon, and planets blaze in the black sky. If there’s no fog and a full moon, when I arrive at the junction of work (the highway) and home (the Ridge), where I first see the ocean, there is a glorious silver trail of moonlight across the dark water, a sight I never get tired of seeing.

Between the reflective paint and the cats’ eyes on the highway, the first of the nine bridges I cross to get to work looks like an airport runway. I am always surprised by how much traffic is heading south, away from the Big Town. Where are they going? To Santa Rosa? To the City? I am often the only car heading to the Big Town in the morning, sometimes until I reach the outskirts of the Village or even the town itself. To be fair, I leave the house somewhere around 6 am on work days.

Crossing the Big River bridge, with its long curve, I always breathe in and try to take in its special energy. There’s something magical about that place, an estuary where the river meets the ocean. It’s so beautiful.

As I approach the Village, I can see the flash of the lighthouse at Point Cabrillo, site of the wreck of the Frolic in 1850, which led to the settlement of the area as scavengers searched for the ship’s rich cargo, but discovered redwoods instead, the beginning of the area’s settlement and the beginning of the lumber business that is still economically important. The lighthouse was later immortalized in the delightful movie The Majestic. You can still tour the lighthouse’s magnificent Fresnel lens a couple of times a year, and the lighthouse pretty much any day. It’s worth a visit.

Recently, I realized that going to work in the darkness isn’t really anything new for me. When I lived in the City, I worked market hours, which meant getting to work when the New York Stock Exchange opened, at 6 am Pacific time. I walked from my Jazz Age condo in Pacific Heights to my sky high office building in the Financial District. To get there, I walked through the Tenderloin, which is still, in this age of gentrification, a little on the sketchy side.

In those days, and at that time of day, night met day like the river meets the sea at Big River, though with perhaps a little less magic and poetry. I’d see people making their way home after a night of serious partying, or heading home after a one night stand while others, like me, were on their way to work. Sex workers were out in full force, and I was surprised by how much business there was at that time of day. It seemed odd to me then and odd to me now that men on their way to work would pick up a hooker instead of (or perhaps in addition to) a coffee. Sex is pretty much the last thing on my mind on my way to work and at work, but then, I am not of the male persuasion.

Now, instead of worrying about homeless people or being grabbed on my way to work, I worry about hitting a deer or maybe driving off the Ridge in the fog. You never know what you’ll find in the dark, whether you live in the country or the city.

A YEAR AGO: Not much rain then, either. Maybe it’s not all that surprising I ran out of water.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Noticing the magic moments in everyday life.

TEN YEARS AGO: Beginning to feel a little better.

Welcome rain

I ignored the arrival of the New Year and the departure of the old one, even though I was equally happy to see the old one leave and the new one arrive. I hope my being a bad hostess doesn’t mean that 2021 will be worse than 2020. The sequel is so often worse than the original.

The new year did bring us some much-needed rain. We are at about half of what we should have for this time of year. Although I live in a water tower and my landlord Danielle assured me that they had never run out of water on this property, even in a drought, that is what happened recently.

Danielle is in Hawaii, so that left her son and my neighbor Alex to deal with the water issue. He primed the pump and did other things that are beyond my extremely limited ability to understand, and although I needed to use bottled water for one day, the water did come back. It never occurred to me to have buckets at the ready, like I used to at the old house, and hopefully it will still not be necessary. I’m glad I had the bottled water leftover from the nightmare of the PSPS, though.

As I drove across the Salmon Creek bridge on New Year’s Day, I saw a rainbow hovering above the old Ridge, and I like to think that was a good omen for the year ahead. I got the vaccine on the first working day of the year, and that seemed like a good omen, too. I hardly felt its application, and have suffered no ill effects so far. I have not turned into a pumpkin or a werewolf, and my arm doesn’t even hurt, as I had been warned.

Here’s hoping that the New Year is kinder to all of us. Or, as a wise friend put it, “Happier New Year to you.”

A YEAR AGO: Welcoming the new year. Little did I know.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Starting the year with a power outage.

TEN YEARS AGO: Putting away the decorations for another year.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Recapping 2005.

Looking back on the year with 2020 vision…or 2020 hindsight.

I made a decision to keep this space free of politics and other unpleasantness. As usual, with any decision I have ever made, I am not sure I made the right one. I work at a medical clinic and could have written about what it was/is like to work in a medical clinic during a pandemic, but I don’t want to write about work and I am too frivolous for such serious topics. Also, I like keeping everything ugly at bay. This is my safe (and sparkly) space, for better or for worse, for shallower or shallower.

Despite enjoying escapist fare such as children’s books (the wonderful E.L. Konigsberg and E. Nesbit) and Agatha Christies, as well as re-reading classics like The Catcher in the Rye and the works of the divine Jane when there was no library access, the total of books read by the local library chairperson was a paltry 86, not much of an improvement over the embarrassing 82 recorded in 2019. I greatly enjoyed Elton John’s memoir, Peter Swanson’s Eight Perfect Murders, Ruth Ware’s One by One, Connie Schultz’s The Daughters of Erietown, and Alex North’s The Whisper Man. As usual, Stephen King with If It Bleeds and Michael Connelly with Fair Warning and The Law of Innocence did not disappoint.

In addition to comfort viewing (The Rockford Files and Columbo), there were some amazing TV shows brightening my screen on these dark days: City on a Hill, Succession, Escape at Dannemora, Russian Doll, Unbelievable, Perry Mason (the new one; not the classic, which is also wonderful, but very different), The Morning Show, Dead to Me, Dash & Lily, Ozark, Bad Blood, Little Fires Everywhere, Better Call Saul, Emily in Paris, and Get Shorty. If you haven’t seen any of these, check them out. You’ll thank me later.

Other than that, here’s all the news I saw fit to print:

January: A quiet beginning to the new year, with no hangover and no particular plans. My beautiful commute. It still amazes me and reveals new joys. A seemingly endless supply of meetings.

February: The gift of a new cell phone from my sister, who was tired of not being able to text me at home. It took three visits to the Verizon Store to sort of get my data transferred. The nightmare of the kitties. A long story which was entirely my fault, and you know how much I love that. The kitchen sink was full of sewage again, and the power was out. Good times. Sunny days outside and pretty inside. A lovely day. And a lovely dinner.

March: An update on my bosses, the cats. Ignoring the ignominious time change with a look around the family garden. Close encounters with wildlife. In my case, the hare (thankfully) won the race. Remembering my beloved father on his birthday. A night in town. Of tires and take-out. Michelin-starred, no less. the take-out, not the tires (though they could have been Michelins). I was shocked and saddened to hear of my former brother-in-law Mike’s death, but thankful it was a peaceful one at home. Rest in peace, dear Mike. You were a wonderful man and will always be loved and remembered with joy.

April: Michelin starred take-out 2.0. Is it conceited that I prefer my own cooking? Maybe the starriness doesn’t translate well to the take-out genre. Mom? Is that you? The tale of the grandfather clock, more than 250 years and counting (the hours and minutes). Beauty is all around me. My blog turned 19! The differences between my weekday and weekend routines. Adventures in cooking.

May: Welcoming spring. I really enjoyed spring this year. It was so beautiful. The beauty of the season was darkened by the sudden and shocking death of a dear and long-time friend. Randy, I will never forget you or your smile that lit up a room. Some reflections on Mother’s Day from someone who will never be one and who had a complicated relationship with her own. There may be a connection here. Celebrating Dodge’s fourth (or so) birthday. He is such a beautiful, affectionate little guy. Never a dull moment for Megan, at work in the ER. The month ended with the end of the Beautiful Harriet, Megan and Rob’s much-loved 19 year old cat, just two days after Megan’s birthday. Harriet (then called Olivia) made her first appearance on my blog in December, 2001. She was part of our family for a long time and will always be missed.

June: Things were flourishing in the family garden. Of haircuts and hardware stores. A happy birthday for me…and for my beloved Clyde, who turned 10. A nice addition to the bedroom. Remembering the unforgettable Ginger, our childhood dog.

July: Celebrating the Fourth of July and both sides of my heritage. Also Megan and Rob’s 29th anniversary. Here’s to the next 29! Things were shady over at the family estate. Adjusting to a Kindle. I’m still a paper book girl at heart. Rob’s beautiful garden art. A delightful breakfast at the delightful Queenie’s. Some kitty adventures.

August: Things were rocking and rolling in the family garden. I think I did a better job of using produce this year. An unexpected operation for Stella. I’m glad to report she is fine. A lot of sadness in a short period of time in our little town. Time to start cooking with all that produce. The Evil Eighteenth rolled around for the nineteenth time. I was angry this year. I will never get over losing Dad like that. A heatwave, and remembering past summers. Trying to cool down with some icy adult beverages beside the ocean. Hello, darkness, my old enemy.

September: Rearranging the kitchen after my microwave gave up the ghost, as my appliances tend to do. Audrey being Audrey. Rob: always there to make my life better. Happy birthday to my amazing brother, Jonathan. The horror of wildfires. Getting my MacBook fixed, with all the fun that entails. And getting Wednesday repaired. Attacking the Closet of Doom, with Rob’s help.

October: Rob was working hard on the Closet of Doom. It’s still a work in progress. Summer seemed to be endless. A delightful visit with a friend. I hope we can do that again soon. Yet another crown for our princess. My ex John adopted a pregnant stray cat. Meet Willow, Peach, and Daisy (I named Daisy)! Doing some project cooking.

November: A road trip to beautiful Anderson Valley. Problems with the heater. Megan started an exciting new side gig at prestigious Stanford University! An update on Willow and her kittens. Getting my third crown was about as fun as you’d expect. I hope it’s the last one, but fear it won’t be. What would I be like if I had a different name? Trying to find the right blanket was harder than you’d expect.

December: The Christmas tree went up a little early this year. And the kitchen sink needed a minor procedure. Some lights in the darkness. Best friends. Memories of Christmas past. A quiet Christmas.

Thank you for coming along with me on this journey for another year, or staying with me for another year. Here’s to a brighter New Year for all of us!

It was a quiet Christmas this year.

On Christmas Eve, I headed out to Navarro Beach, passing the mill superintendent’s house and Captain Fletcher’s Inn, remembering what a great time Megan and I had at Navarro by the Sea Day a couple of years ago.

Arriving at the beach, I was surprised to find it was much warmer than I expected, and I did not need my hat and coat at all. I wandered the beach:

and enjoyed watching and hearing the waves. I can’t imagine living where it’s landlocked. Watching the ocean brings me peace. When I lived in the City, I walked to the waterfront when I was sad or worried and watched the waves in the Bay. It was always soothing.

I enjoyed the breeze, the cormorants sitting placidly in the water, the gulls shrieking, and the ravens surfing the thermals above the crashing waves. I thought about Dad and how much he loved the ocean, and the astonishing fact that next year marks twenty years without him.

Back home, I did some dinner prep for Christmas Day itself. It was a stripped-down version of our usual feast. I was a bit worried about the ham. Jonathan always takes care of it, and I have no ham experience. Also, both Megan and my good friend A had Christmas ham disasters this year, so I was somewhat concerned that I would follow in their culinary footsteps.

A had suggested a hack for my world-famous cheese biscuits: using the food processor. I whizzed the dry ingredients in it, pulsed in the butter, and poured it into a bowl. I then used the food processor to grate the cheeses, instead of doing it by hand. I tossed the cheese into the dry ingredients with my hands and used a spoon to stir in the milk. They were literally the best cheese biscuits I have ever made, and I will do them this way from now on.

I need not have worried about the ham. It came out perfectly, and was quite small, so I wasn’t inundated with leftovers. Also, no bone to deal with.

To accompany all this, I had our traditional Christmas salad of bitter greens with roasted pears and fresh pomegranate seeds, topped with a shallot dressing:

After dinner, I had sparkling pink wine and opened my presents, which were quite wonderful, ranging from a gift certificate for getting my hair done to a pair of beautiful slate blue gloves from Edinburgh. I watched the Grinch and Charlie Brown and felt like a pretty lucky girl.

A YEAR AGO: A happy holiday.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A festive Christmas.

TEN YEARS AGO: A happy Christmas. Jessica was so little!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Things were eventful during the holiday season.

It’s probably not surprising that I am looking toward Christmas Past rather than Christmas Present, which is basically a non-event, though there are a few presents under my tree.

When I was a girl, our tree was always a real one, since we had our own grove of pine trees on our five acres of land. On the first Saturday in December, we would put on our snowsuits and troop with Dad through the snow to choose just the right tree. There was always a certain amount of discussion and debate before the winning tree was selected.

We stood back while Dad chopped the tree down, the clear note of the axe ringing out in the cold, clean winter air, soon joined by the sharp smell of pine sap. We dragged the tree home triumphantly across the snow to show Mom our trophy. And then there was the excitement of putting it up and decorating it.

In my memories, we went to my mother’s parents’ house for the great day itself. My grandparents lived in a small town not far from Rochester, New York, about an hour and a half’s drive from our house, though it seemed much longer. I am a bit shocked when I think that my mother used to smoke in the car, and of course the car windows were closed against the cold winter air, so we must have smelled horrible by the time we got to Nana and Hoho’s house:

My grandparents lived in a rather grand Victorian house. It was a wedding gift from the town sheriff to his daughter. My grandparents lived on the ground floor, and two maiden ladies, Frieda and Maretta, lived in apartments on the second floor. The third floor attic was full of marvels, like souvenirs from Nana’s brother’s grand tour of Europe, ballgowns, and my great-grandfather’s Civil War sword and sleigh bells.

From the rarely-used front door of their house (seen above; we used the back door into the kitchen), you could see all the way to the town square, where the town tree was decorated and lit up. This was a particularly magical sight at night. Nana and Hoho always had an artificial tree, which seemed very glamorous to me. It was in the seldom-used front parlor, and on Christmas morning, we would have a wonderful breakfast of scrambled eggs, home-made cinnamon rolls baked into the shape of a stylized Christmas tree, and juice. I’m sorry to say that we rather rushed through these delights in order to get to the present-opening part of the proceedings.

When that great moment came, my grandmother would dramatically open the pocket doors that separated the two parlors, revealing the grand Christmas tree in all its sparkling glory, with the presents beneath. It was a magical moment, and time stood still as I took in all the ornaments and lights as well as the gifts heaped below. Even as a child, I loved the sparkly. I still do.

And while things might not be merry and bright right now, they will be again. Thank you for coming along with me on this journey. I wish you and yours all the best this holiday season and in the new year.

Mirror Image

When I first brought Dodge home, he took one look at Clyde and it was love at first sight.

Clyde isn’t much of a fighter, but he hissed at the interloper, defending his territory as most cats will do. Dodge took it in stride, and you could practically see the thought balloon over his head as he decided he would win Clyde over.

It took surprisingly little time for Clyde to decide that maybe this young whippersnapper from the mean streets of Fort Bragg might be, just might be, OK. Once Dodge had an opening, it wasn’t long before Clyde was completely won over by his hero-worshipping young friend, and they became inseparable companions, playing together, getting into trouble together, basking in the sun, and giving each other baths.

Clyde is 10 years old to Dodge’s relatively youthful 4. And while you may not be able to teach an old dog new tricks, it seems you can teach an old cat new tricks. Clyde has started to copy a few of Dodge’s mannerisms, even though he is the senior member of the household and you would think his adoring acolyte would copy him. But no, Clyde has picked up on some of the new kid’s quirks, and fortunately, they are endearing.

Quirk One is rubbing up against my legs when I am in the bathroom. It’s nice to feel the soft fur. Clyde never did that before, and now he does it more than Dodge does. Quirk Two is pushing his head against me when I am petting him. It is so endearing. And speaking of endearing, Dodge still does his characteristic move of jumping while rubbing against me. I love that so much.

Audrey, of course, disdains them both, and often gives them Grinchy death glares. To be fair, Dodge has an unfortunate habit of chasing Audrey whenever the mood strikes him. I know we all need a hobby, but I wish he’d pick something a little less destructive to household peace, like learning to play the bagpipes. Also, Audrey took a dim view of humanity and her fellow felines long before Dodge came along.

Given that she is approaching her 14th year of her less than benevolent reign, I have started her on a glucosamine and chondroitin supplement for arthritic cats, and I do think it has made her less grumpy. Or at least changed the quality of her grumpitude somewhat. I tried CBD on her with no effect, but this does seem to be helping a bit. She seems a little more certain when jumping, too. If Audrey is happier, we all are.

A YEAR AGO: The many pleasures of Candlelit Shopping night in the Village.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A very enjoyable mini break in town.

TEN YEARS AGO: A really good mail day.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: An unexpected encounter with Santa.