Suzy Says

Dramatic vistas

Dateline: Indian Bread Rocks, coordinates 32.239136 / 109.50086, elevation 4,108

While we were happy to be on the road again, it was hard to leave the Kofa Wildlife refuge. Like the Mojave Preserve we have unfinished business there. We drove to Yuma to get groceries, water and fuel and got drive through at In and Out for the first time in well over a year! Fridge, gas tank and tummies filled, we headed out towards some petroglyphs called the Painted Rocks.

On the road out to the petroglyphs, there was a solar power plant with trough mirrors that super heat molten, liquid salts and them use them to make steam to run a turbine. They do it this way because they can put the molten salts in an insulated container to use when the sun is no longer shining. It is like a battery in a way with the energy stored as heat.

The petroglyphs were simply astounding:

By far the most I have seen in one place, the rocks here are covered in them. The rocks seem to have a fairly thin dark layer on the outside and are much lighter in color underneath this layer. This is why the ancients chose these rocks to put their art and messages on because if you chip or scratch through the dark layer you expose the lighter layer and the contrast makes the design easy to see. You cannot help but wonder what was going through their minds and what they meant the designs to mean. While it was a long time ago, people then were the same as they are now, so what were these intelligent artisans trying to say?

As it got dark and I was setting up the antenna there was a light sprinkle of rain. A funny thing about a light rain in the desert is that you can stay out in it and never get wet! The air is so dry that the wind is like a blow dryer. You can feel the rain evaporating as it hits you. We had dinner and then it began to rain a little more. A half inch or so must have fallen during the night and yet everything was still pretty much dry in the morning, the parched desert drinking it up as fast as it fell.

In the morning we packed up and moved out. We had decided to go check out the Saguaro National Park. It has the most varied and lush vegetation I have ever seen in the desert. Ironwood trees, palo verde, more types of cholla than I knew existed and of course and absolute forest of saguaro. Usually in the desert plants are placed pretty far apart as there just isn’t enough water and nutrients to support more. This is obviously not the case in this very special place as the vegetation is almost as dense as a forest.

Speaking of cholla cactus, holy cow are there a bunch of different types here, some of which we had never met before. There is the stag horn cholla, which does indeed resemble the horns of a stag. There is the chain fruit cholla which is kind of bumpy and apparently has little mini grape like fruits after it flowers. Then we saw the pencil cholla which as the name implies has very thin, pencil like growth. While their outward appearance is very different you can tell they are all cholla and the one thing they all have in common is their viscous stickers!

Going on a tip from a friend we decided to go to Indian Bread Rocks. This is just south of the town of Bowie, AZ. It is the kind of obscure place that only the true desert dogs tend to find. It is BLM land so dispersed camping is fine. When we arrived, we found that there were a few other people here. They are all desert dogs. As we were making dinner (delicious frittata) Rio suddenly cocked her ear and said that she thought she heard a cow! Indeed she had and a small herd of cows began wandering through. They were all around a trailer a little ways down the road so we walked down to check them out and in the process met another very nice couple and had a laugh over the cow invasion. We stayed and chatted for a few minutes about boondocking subjects, like trailer VS vans, 4WD vs AWD and agreed it is all about compromises with pros and cons to each.

This morning when we woke up and started coffee we heard a very soft clattering on the roof. We went outside for a moment and there was snow coming down! Very strange as it was sunny and about 45 degrees out, not very cold at all. Of course the snow was melting and evaporating instantly when it hit the ground. It is peculiar how any kind of moisture just disappears in the desert.

When we were climbing Teutonia Peak, I saw a hawk diving down at incredible speed, without a doubt going in to make some hapless critter dinner. How they don’t slam into the ground I just don’t know, they are incredible acrobatic fliers. We were at a gas station and there were some tropical sounding birds making all sorts of noises and calls, up in the palm trees. And just last night as dusk was giving way to night the small birds in the trees near us got very chatty with each other, twittering and calling and making silly noises. I think it is their way of saying goodnight to each other as they only kept it up for 15 minutes or so.

Today the plan is to head over to the Chiricahua monument because the rock formations there are so crazy and unique. Stay tuned for the next exciting episode!

Jonathan

A YEAR AGO: The sudden and tragic loss of my former brother-in-law Mike, one of the kindest men who ever lived. He was a good man a great father and grandfather. He will always be missed.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Some Saturday errands.

TEN YEARS AGO: A glorious spring day.

FIFTEEN YERAS AGO: A visit to Venice in 1984.

The moon was huge and blazing orange this morning. I wondered what the light was through the dark trees, and it turned out to be my old friend the moon. She was so beautiful that I actually gasped out loud. By the time I got to the ocean, I could barely see a glimpse of her as she slid into the fog bank above the water, so I couldn’t take a picture. Not that I have ever taken a good picture of the moon.

As I drove down the darkling Ridge this morning, an owl swooped low in front of my car, perhaps in search of an early breakfast. I instinctively ducked – as if my lowering my head inside the car would help! – and also braked, and we both emerged from the encounter unscathed. I love owls. If I had a totem animal, I think it would be an owl.

I also saw a group of young deer heading home after being out all night. It’s the baby animal time of year. It’s definitely spring now. The trees are leafed out in that translucent green they only have in spring, the California poppies are unfurling their bright orange blossoms by the side of the road, joined by spiky purple irises. The magnolia blossoms at the library have been replaced by lilacs, my favorites.

Despite the beauty of the season and the hopefulness it typically brings, we are still feeling sad at the loss of Star. Stella has been taking the loss of her companion harder than we expected. Stella is normally such a happy-go-lucky dog that we didn’t expect her sadness, though when you think about the fact that they were always together:

And that this change is as big in Stella’s life as it is in Rob’s and Megan’s, it only makes sense that big, goofy Stella is also grieving. For several days after Star’s death, Stella went back to the place she died and sniffed it. She also sniffed where Star used to sleep and eat. I guess we are all adjusting to the After phase of our lives.

Megan is making an effort to take Stella out to meet other people and dogs. She has always been super friendly, but Star was reserved and suspicious of strangers, so it was best for her to stay home, so that meant that Stella stayed home, too. But now she can walk around the Village and enjoy the attention she invariably gets, as well as the view from the Headlands:

Megan is planning to have Stella meet some friends’ dogs and perhaps take some classes as well. You may remember that she passed her Canine Good Citizenship class on the first try, though she might need a refresher course.

Megan and I enjoyed a night of GirlTV™ (Emily in Paris! Where is Season 2 already?) and GirlTalk™ (Tales from the ER!) last weekend. We are lucky that Rob is so tolerant of both these things.

A YEAR AGO: You can bring a girl to Michelin-starred food, but you can’t make her eat it.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Setting up the grandfather clock and remembering its history.

TEN YEARS AGO: Indoor and outdoor flooding.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Jump in the wayback machine with me! We’re going to Italy, circa 1984.

Desert Views

Jonathan and Rio’s adventures continue. For those of you who don’t know my brother, he is an avid ham radio operator, which comes into play in this installment.

Dateline: Mojave National Preserve, near Teutonia Peak, coordinates 35.315201 / 115.550104, elevation 4,928′.

After we packed up this morning we headed to a little place called Kelso. It is what is left of a train depot. During the steam train days locomotives pulling long trains couldn’t make it up the grade by themselves. So at Kelso they had “helper trains”, extra locomotives that helped the trains get to the top, then disconnected and went back down to Kelso to help the next train. Once powerful diesel locomotives were invented there was no reason for Kelso to exist and so it was mostly abandoned. There was also the remains of the Kelso jail, which at this point is just a cage. It used to have a tin roof and walls to keep the sun off the prisoners which is now gone.

This morning when I was checking into the Recreational Vehicle Service Net…

Wait a minute, maybe I should explain about nets. Radio nets are a meeting on the air of ham radio operators. So this morning, when I checked into the RV service net and was listening to the other stations I heard there was another ham camping just a few miles from us! What are the odds? So, I made contact with him and he and I had a great conversation on the radio. Turns out he has been here many times and had much information about what roads are good, which are bad, interesting places to go, where you can get water and so on.

So, following some of his advice we headed up Cima Valley road. There we found a forest of Joshua trees, just as good as at Joshua Tree National Park but with way less people. And as you know, way less people is my jam. We were looking for an old gold mine that our new ham friend was telling us of. We haven’t found that yet but did see on the map a place called Teutonia Peak. It showed a trail to the top. Challenge accepted! We decided to drive up there and check it out. On the way we were greeted by a very, very sad sight. The amazing Joshua tree forest had been burned over last year. So sad, thousands of acres of burned and probably dead Joshua trees. Bummer.

When we were close to Teutonia Peak we saw a sign for some sort of World War I memorial and so we stopped to check it out. It has an interesting history and perhaps I will tell you about it some time. While we were checking it out we found a nice little camp spot. The area is a small island that didn’t burn and so as I type this I can see beautiful Joshua trees, cholla cactus, creosote bushes, all sorts of green vegetation.

So we decided to camp there and hike to the Teutonia Peak trail head, which wasn’t far away. As we started up the trail we could see the burn up close. Every single plant had been burned. In many cases all that was left was just a sooty spot on the ground. It is hard to believe that the fire was so intense that it burned every single thing. Plants and trees in the desert are pretty far apart and yet the fire managed to get them all. There are a few green tips here and there that hint that some might survive. If they get some rain and it sure doesn’t look there has been much if any this year so far.

We started the climb up Teutonia peak. From the scorched remains we could see that types of plants change as you go up. The Joshua trees become smaller and fewer and the juniper trees get larger and appear more often. The cholla cactus gives way to this flat, roundish cactus that I don’t know the name of. As we climbed the wind got stronger and stronger and as we reached the ridge that leads to the peak I had to tie my hat on or it was going to blow away! And there was no way in that terrain that I would have gotten it back. So, hat tied tightly we made our way along the ridge to the top.

The view from the top was spectacular! As is usually the case in the desert the view went on forever. So many interesting mountains and rock formations to look at. The top itself was a neat little place with a little rock alcove that had a natural seat and would have been a perfect place to hide from a rain storm. You could see some islands that didn’t get burned and it made us realize just how green this part of the desert used to be. I look forward to coming back in a few years to see how it is coming back. We also have much left to explore here.

After getting back to Moby, we made some dinner. The wind continued to blow so we cooked outside but ate inside. It was getting chilly, especially with the wind still blowing. We watched a movie and then went to bed with wind making the antenna sing us a bedtime song.

Until the next chapter,

Jonathan

A YEAR AGO: A night in town.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Remembering Dad.

TEN YEARS AGO: The invisible super moon.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Getting declined all over the place.

Dad and Margaret at the Tate Gallery, London

Today would have been my father’s 90th birthday.

Is it still his birthday when he isn’t here to see it? I would like to think it is. His birthday is always his birthday to me. This year it falls just four days after we lost our beloved Star, making it all the more painful. This year also marks the 20th anniversary of Dad’s sudden and untimely death. I guess it’s just sad all the way around.

Although Dad’s life was too short, it was a wonderful one. His last few years, with his much-loved Margaret, may have been the happiest he ever knew. I believe she was the love of his life. They were so happy together and had so much in common, growing up during WWII, loving travel and adventure, art, wine, good cooking, and family. Margaret was the perfect travel companion, happily hopping on African buses full of people and livestock in the tropical heat, or sitting by a dusty roadside waiting for the bus to get repaired and start up again. It was all good fun to her, and she never complained, all while being perfectly dressed and coiffed at all times. I am so thankful for the love and joy they shared, right until the end.

I’m proud of Dad’s work and how he helped to get DDT banned and get the peregrine falcon off the endangered species list, as well as his work on the effects of oil spills and detergent dispersants on sea birds, and his efforts to clean up the Great Lakes. He was often called on to be an expert witness, and his work lives on, continuing to be cited by other scientists and inspiring young scientists to do new work. When he died, he was still editing the scientific journal “Ecotoxicology”, which he founded, and was set to chair an international OECD meeting later that month. He was still working, still making the world a better place than he found it.

But more than a great scientist, he was a great father. He just wanted all of us to be happy. He never pressured us to follow in his footsteps. He knew all the worst things about me, and loved me anyway. He always gave me great advice, and he was never wrong.

I am lucky to have been known and loved like that. And to have had a father who was my best friend.

Our Shining Star

Star died around 1:00 pm on Saturday, March 13.

She was lying in the sun in the garden when she started coughing up blood. Stella started barking like crazy. She is not a barker or freaker outer, so she knew something was wrong*. Rob ran to get Megan, who was sleeping after her third 12 hour night shift of the week, and by the time they got back to the garden, Star was gone. Megan called me and we had what may have been the shortest conversation we ever had:

Me: Hi, sweetie!

Megan: I think Star just died.

Me: Be right there.

It seemed like a long drive over there. I wished it was 2 minutes, the way it used to be, instead of 20. I blew by the 30 mile an hour signs at 55.

I was glad I stopped by to see her on Friday and had that last visit with her. She and Megan walked me to my car, and I watched them in my side mirror until they were out of sight. Megan told me later that Star watched me drive away. I wonder if she knew it was the last time.

Star was still happy to see me on Friday, though she also seemed tired. I thought it would happen sometime this week, but not so soon. I was planning to visit her again over the weekend.

Star looked peaceful other than the blood. She was lying in the garden, near the rows of onions and garlic, her clean fur shining in the sun. Megan and I put Star on a soft, lavender flannel sheet and moved her to the bench of the picnic table for ease of petting. Stella again barked and ran around when we moved Star.

We spent a few hours petting and kissing Star, burying our noses in her silky coat to smell her familiar smell, or just resting our hands on her soft fur as we reminisced and cried, trying to begin to come to terms with this huge loss.

When the time came, Rob took Star for one last ride in the golf cart, in the front seat, of course. I walked behind them with my head bowed and my heart aching. I felt honored that I had been there for the beginning of Star’s time with us, and to be there at the end.

It was hard to say goodbye, and it broke my heart to see Megan so heartbroken. She couldn’t stop kissing Star’s face and holding her in floods of tears. Rob and I tried to keep it together for Megan. I rubbed her back as she bent over Star, whispering her last words of love and comfort and giving a final kiss to that beloved, beautiful face.

Rob laid Star to rest gently, making sure she was tucked in before we filled in the grave, that final service for a loved one, as the late winter afternoon shone down upon us.

I am grateful for the 11 years we had with Star, and for the love, joy, and beauty she brought to our lives. Rest easy, sweet girl. You are forever loved.

*I later learned that even the most placid dogs have been known to bark at death. A friend told me that she was alerted to her mother’s death by their dogs barking up a storm. Maybe they are warning the pack that something is very, very wrong.

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.