Suzy Says

It’s that magical time of year when the long, slow curve in Little River is a haze of green as the trees on each side flaunt their new leaves. Spring leaves have a brilliance that is lost by summer, and these trees also lose their leaves in winter, so it’s a delight to watch them bud and then burst forth in all their verdant glory as the year progresses. There are banks of calla lilies unfurling their white blooms under the trees in the spring, like out of season snow.

These days, it’s light enough in the mornings for me to see the leaves on my way to work, which is a small pleasure in and of itself. Mornings are glorious this time of year, in sunlight:

and in fog:

It’s also rhododendron time, when the woods are frilled with pink:

Arriving home last week, i noticed that there are wild irises scattered among the ferns beside my house:

There is beauty everywhere this time of year.

A YEAR AGO: I found the beautiful house where I now live. I still can’t believe I live in this lovely place.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Dogs and cats. Cats and dogs. Past and present. Present and past.

TEN YEARS AGO: The mystery of the window boxes in the night.

I tend to do my cooking for the week on Saturday, making dishes I can heat up after work during the week. About the last thing I want to do after driving, working, and arriving home to take care of cats and removing faux adult armor so painstakingly applied that morning is slicing and dicing. I have a limited supply of patience and niceness, and it’s running on empty by the end of the work day. Basically, I just want to heat something up, watch a little TV, and go to bed and read.

Sometimes I do special projects on the weekends, like making Montreal-style bagels. I have actually gotten pretty good at making these, though they are a time consuming and messy process. I live 3,000 miles from the nearest commercially available Montreal bagels, so if I want them (and I do), I have to make them myself.

Recently, I tried my hand at strawberry granola, from a recipe in the New York Times. It came out perfect the first time, and I wouldn’t change a thing:

While I was combining the dried strawberries with the cooled granola mixture, I noticed several deer wandering down the driveway, outside the kitchen window. They were completely unafraid, nibbling here and there. They had a couple of young ones with them, at the stage where they were shedding their spots. the biggest deer peeked in the window at me, and for a moment, my little green eyes met his huge, liquid brown ones. Then he and his family headed off into the woods. A little moment of magic.

Another success was a first-time attempt at making Carolina-style ribs. I like the tangy style of barbecue sauce rather than the thick, sweet, sticky one. I made a rub and applied it the night before, letting it marinate overnight, and then baking the ribs for a few hours the next night. They turned out great, and I will not change a thing the next time I make them, and there will be a next time. It’s fun to try new recipes along with the tried and true.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Farewell to Marco, the gentle giant. We still miss you, sweet boy.

TEN YEARS AGO: Well, this is still true. Between a writing project and writing social media posts fro work, my blog has been neglected lately. Seems two posts a week is about all I can do these days.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Again, all these things are still true. A girl can dream…

During the week, I get up in the early morning darkness. Most days, I wake up before the alarm goes off, and I am almost invariably disappointed that it’s already time to get up. Sometimes I lie there for a few minutes, wondering why it’s always time to get up, but mostly I just get up, turn off the alarm, put away my sleep mask and earplugs, and get on with it.

The first order of business is always cat care, and I have the invaluable Clyde to remind me of this very important fact. Even though my record of giving the cats food and water twice a day is unblemished, Clyde, like his Staff, tends to fear the worst and feels that it doesn’t hurt for me to get a reminder. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to understand that his getting under my feet and yowling makes it take longer to achieve the desired result. All this before coffee, my friends.

I’m usually out of the house within an hour of getting up, and that includes the application of faux adult armor, including make-up and hair styling.

On the weekends, it’s a different story, though.

I wake up when it’s light out. Cat care still comes first, but then I make coffee, bring it back upstairs, and get back into bed. On Saturdays, I read Savage Love and on Sundays I read PostSecret before attending to my fan mail. These are long-standing traditions.

It’s nice to sit in bed and enjoy the serene views from the windows and the sounds of silence:

I can (and do) spend hours in bed, reading book reviews and recipes, writing, and hanging out with the cats, who are clearly glad that I’m home for a change just encourage this kind of slothitude. People who think cats are aloof and distant have never met my cats.

Audrey generally curls up right next me, somewhat surprising for a cat of her general grumpitude. She even purrs, though she also growls when Dodge is anywhere near. Despite that, there is sometimes a temporary truce, though only when the bed is messy:

Usually, the boys are curled up together, with Audrey growling softly beside me just to remind them that she can barely tolerate their existence.

Eventually, I get up and do some cooking for the week – I like to make things I can heat up after work – but I really enjoy my weekend ritual.

A YEAR AGO: An amazing outing with the girls, learning about female lighthouse keepers – at a lighthouse.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful celebration of Jessica’s birthday, with zebras, giraffes, surfers, and patisserie. What more could a girl want?

TEN YEARS AGO: I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we rescued Star! I’m pretty sure she knew that day that she was home. She was a mama’s girl from Day One! Some things never change.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: An emotional recipe. And a charmimg memory.

My blog turns 19 today, on 420. Despite the fact that I live in Weed Central, I only noticed recently that my blog’s birthday is the same day as the pot-tastic celebration of 420. There are many tales and theories about how it happened and how it got its name, so take your pick and smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em, especially now it’s legal*.

Sadly for me, I have no interest in the County’s most famous product. It has never agreed with me, making me paranoid and nervous instead of mellow and relaxed. I recently tried CBD oil on John’s recommendation – he finds it calms his panic attacks – but, you guessed it, same result. Give me a glass of wine or a fancy cocktail any evening. No one can be uncheered with a glass of champagne in her hand.

Here’s to your 19th birthday, little blog! Keep on sparkling!

*My father the research scientist always thought it should be legal, and despite the fact that he was an enthusiastic consumer of adult beverages, he also felt that alcohol contributed to far more crimes than weed ever did.

A YEAR AGO: My blog’s birthday.

FIVE YEARS AGO:Comparing the past and the present on my blog’s birthday. Guess who won?

TEN YEARS AGO: Marking the blog birthday, of course!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: You’ll never guess!

I’m not tracking them the way I did a few years ago, but lately, I have been trying to notice the perfect moments in each day.

When I lived in San Francisco, I never stopped noticing its beauty, and I am the same way here. Every day when I reach the ocean, or as I think of it, the intersection between home and work*:

I am delighted by its beauty. The ocean is ever-changing, and is as beautiful to me when it’s wild and stormy as when it’s blue and serene. It’s just a different kind of beautiful.

I love seeing a wide swath of silver when my friend the moon beams over the dark sea. Even though the moon and I go way back, she has been surprising me with her versatile beauty these days.

One morning – most of the year, it’s dark as night when I get up at 5 am – I was charmed by the sight of silvery moonbeams falling through the slats on my window blinds onto the bed, like I was the heroine of a film noir. Later that week, when I got to the ocean, I wondered what the blaze of orange was in the sky. It turned out to be the copper moon, coming in and out of misty slate blue clouds and making it really hard for me to focus on the road. I kept sneaking peeks to my left as I drove to work that morning.

There is something about driving across the Big River bridge:

that always fills me with a certain bien-être. Maybe it’s something about the ocean meeting the river there, or the curve of the bridge, but I usually find myself relaxing into the beauty when I cross it. On my way home from work one day, I was struck by the perfect sight of ravens, gracefully and slowly surfing the thermals together, hovering above the bridge with the afternoon sun glistening from their iridescent wings.

I am lucky to live somewhere so beautiful.

*On my way home, I always feel I have successfully left the world behind when I turn onto the Ridge from the highway.

A YEAR AGO: A creepy visitor.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Learning about Hooterville’s storied past.

TEN YEARS AGO: An adventure with my sister and the late, great Schatzi. We will never stop missing her.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some random notes.

The grandfather clock in my house is probably older than this country, depending on whether it was made by John Jullion Senior (born 1701) or Junior (born 1734). Mr. Jullion was a famous clockmaker from Brentford, England, who also made the oldest clock still on public display in Australia. That one was made in 1770. Even if it’s Junior, the clock is around 250 years old. And very well-travelled.

I first met this grand old timepiece at my grandparents’ home in Surrey. They moved into the house when they were married in the 1920s and lived there for the rest of their long lives. The clock had been in Grammie’s family since it was first built, coming down through Grammie’s mother’s family, the Smiths.

At my grandparents’ house, the clock lived in the dining room, which was used for every meal, but was also sacred to the game of cricket. When there was a match – especially a Surrey match – on the wireless (radio), no one could make a sound in the house while Daddy’s Daddy listened to the game in the solitary splendor of the dining room.

The Clock

When my grandparents died, the clock was shipped to us, and when Dad retired back to his native England, the heirloom timepiece made its majestic journey with him. Unlike Dad’s 9 year old mutt Jesse, it did not have to be quarantined, and ended up living, like Jesse, in my stepmother Margaret’s lovely house in Wimbledon. About a dozen miles from where Dad grew up. Indeed, Dad used to walk Jesse on the same downs where he walked with own father as a boy.

Dad wound the clock twice a week, and it kept good time in Margaret’s pretty sitting room overlooking the big garden.

When we lost Dad, I gained a clock, and it once again made its way across the ocean, this time to San Francisco, which was a mere wilderness when it was first built. Very long-time readers may recall the battle with Customs and the hassle of getting it set up and running again in my San Francisco apartment, where it lived in the hallway.

At that point in the clock’s long life, I learned that my great grandfather, the splendidly named Sydney Joseph Beaumont Smith (all of his children had only one first name), had cut the clock down from its original height in order to fit it into the flat where he and his family lived, above his butcher shop in Chiswick.

It was something of an Antiques Roadshow moment, where a person learns that if they only hadn’t cleaned that painting, it would be worth a million dollars, and now it’s only worth $20. But the value for me is not the financial one. It is knowing that generations of my family have cared for this timepiece, lovingly made by hand by a craftsman centuries ago, and now I am the guardian of the family legacy. It’s knowing that my grandparents used to listen to its measured tick, as did my great grandparents and earlier generations of my family, and that we are all bound together by the shared experience of caring for and marking our lives and our time together by this ancient timepiece.

A YEAR AGO: I was crowned. And not in a good way.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A lovely evening at the theater with the girls.

TEN YEARS AGO: The story of Henry, the stray cat who found her way into my heart. Our time together wasn’t long enough, but it was sweet.

Mom, 1942

I was yanked out of one of my weird dreams (is there any other kind? My two brain cells seem to go on a riotous rampage when I’m asleep. It’s like David Lynch’s Funhouse in there most nights) at 3:00 am. I knew the answering machine would pick up before I could find my glasses and stumble to the phone, so I didn’t try to dislodge Clyde and get up.

When the phone rang again not three minutes later, I did get up and answer it, and there was no one there, at least no one who wanted to admit they were there. My feeling is that if someone makes you answer the phone, they should talk to you. They should at least apologize for getting you out of bed at 3:00 am.

A friend of mine said it must be one of those robo calls, but what do they get out of it if they don’t even try to scam you?

I went back to bed, though not to sleep. We are a family of bad sleepers, and in my case, if I get woken up, it’s difficult verging on impossible to get back to sleep. I lay there in the dark with Clyde once again cuddled up to me, and I thought how when the phone rang in the depths of the night, I instinctively thought it was about Mom, even though I know that’s impossible and even though she’s been gone for 15 years. I guess her long and terrible decline has left permanent scars behind. Also, it happened to be the day after my mother’s birthday. Not a milestone birthday – 88 years – but a birthday nonetheless, and I always think of her more often around those days.

The next day, I turned on the radio and they were playing a song from the Moody Blues’ “Seventh Sojourn”. That was one of Mom’s favorite records and she played it a lot when I was a girl. It was amazing how listening to that song brought me right back to that time, when Megan was just a baby. I seem to remember it was playing the first time Megan laughed. I remember her lying in the playpen in the sun, looking at the flowers on the syringa bush waving in the wind outside the window, kicking her little feet and laughing joyously.

As I remembered that long-ago day, listened to the music, and thought about that early morning phone call, I wondered if it was all Mom. After all, I thought, if anyone could do it, she could.

A YEAR AGO: An update on Dodge. I’m happy to say that none of these things have changed. He is a joy.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Getting used to the new job. I am pleased to say that my office is much improved these days, at least in appearance.

TEN YEARS AGO: Back home after a trip to the City, missing little Henry Etta.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Mom celebrated her last birthday in the hospital, her spirit unbowed despite everything. I miss you, Mom.

Despite the horror of the lamb* and the milder ick of the cauliflower soup, I had not totally given up on the lure of the Michelin starred food right here in Nowhere. After the shocking unappetizingness of the last meal, I gently suggested that they might want to post the menu before taking orders for the meal. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one, since they did just that and it sounded pretty good:

This time, the dessert cost extra. It was “Japanese cheesecake”, and since I do not like cheesecake and Asian desserts tend to be on the overly sweet and weird side for me, I passed on that in favor of a loaf of their excellent sourdough bread instead.

Instead of going home that Friday, I kept going down to the South Coast. It was a beautiful day for a drive:

As I paused to take some photos, I saw a whale flip his tail out of the water and another spouting as he made his majestic way through the blue waters of the Pacific. Arriving at the restaurant, I was handed a plain brown paper bag, and I retraced my steps back home, where I unpacked it:

Apparently, the foragers were not successful, since there was slaw instead of foraged salad. I called the restaurant to ask how to assemble it. It turned out there was orange-ginger slaw on the side, and the rest of it (toasted sesame and hemp seeds; fresh cilantro and basil; and preserved lime) all got mixed together with the pork and rice noodles.

The soup was pretty heavy, though velvety, and rather dull. Same goes for the slaw. The noodles were ordinaire other than the preserved lime, a new ingredient to me which was delightful and which I would like to try making at home. Secretly (or perhaps not so secretly, since I just told you), I prefer the pork noodles I make, which seems astonishingly conceited, especially for someone who will never have a Michelin star or even half of one. At least it was only $18 per person instead of $180. Maybe it doesn’t translate well to take out or perhaps I can’t appreciate the subtlety of haute cuisine. At least I tried.

*Am amazed that they haven’t come up with a euphemism for it, like “beef” for “cow” and “veal” for “tortured baby cow”. They aren’t even pretending it’s something else.

A YEAR AGO: An unexpected, and unexpectedly moving funeral.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My past selves. I wish I had appreciated being young and cute when I was young and cute.

TEN YEARS AGO: The peaceful death of my beloved Henry Etta, the little stray cat who found a permanent place in my heart. I still miss that scrappy little thing.

I was shocked and saddened to receive an email from my ex-husband John saying that his brother Mike had died an hour earlier that day. He had pulmonary fibrosis and had not shared this news with John until last week, when they did a FaceTime call. Apparently, this is a family trait, since John’s Dad also kept from him that he had various ailments that John felt he should have known about.

Despite Mike’s terrible semi-secret illness, he died peacefully at home, surrounded by his family. I’m not sure how this happened, considering that deaths from that illness are generally gruesome, but am so thankful that this was the case. John said that Mike knew the house was paid off, so his wife of more than 40 years (they married at 18 and were grandparents before they were 40) would be OK, and that his three boys were all fine, so he had no fears or regrets.

And you may remember that John’s Dad dropped dead on his way to the car with his wife Marj, as they were going on a routine shopping trip, at the same time I was watching a lunar eclipse and a shooting star that I still think was his farewell to us. In both cases I am glad it was swift and they were not scared or in pain, and that they had their loved ones with them.

The last time I saw Mike was long ago, when John and I were still married and we had dinner at Mike and Charmaine’s house. We laughed a lot and had a great evening together. They were a very caring couple. During the bad ice storm in Ottawa back in the 1990s, they had power for some reason when their neighbors didn’t, and they had everyone at their house, eating and staying and keeping warm until their power came back on. That’s the kind of people they were.

Losing Mike hit John pretty hard, and I’m trying to be there for him as best I can. I am thankful that when John and I broke up, his family continued to care for me, and that John and I found our way – or perhaps are still finding our way – to be supportive and caring for each other. We have helped each other through a lot of things over the past few years and I am glad he is part of my life.

A YEAR AGO: A last supper with Erica and Jessica before they moved away, apparently forever.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A busy week before I started my new job. A lot has happened there in the past five years.

TEN YEARS AGO: A hell of a hailstorm!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Farewell to Florida!

You might be as surprised as I was to learn that there is a Michelin starred restaurant right here in Nowhere. Their prix fixe is a little out of my range, at $180 per person (and $120 extra if you order the wine pairing), so I was happy to learn through the ever-handy (and ever-quirky) local message boards that the restaurant was offering pick up meals for $18 a person. Even someone as math-challenged as I am can see that it’s a tenth of the normally astronomical price.

I went ahead and ordered it online and paid ahead per the instructions, without knowing what it was and suspecting that it might well be something horrifying, like lamb or salmon or mushrooms. Still, a Michelin star! Also I ordered a loaf of their house made sourdough to go with the mystery meal.

It was a glorious day as I headed to the magical south coast to pick up my mystery meal. I hadn’t gone far down the highway when a young man waved me to a halt. I pulled over and he told me that he had a flat tire. He wondered if Wednesday’s spare might work. I told him he was welcome to it, and removed it from the trunk.

Remembering my own flat tire experience, I told him not to drive far on it. By this time, the tire stores in the Big Town were closed, and I told the young man that they wouldn’t open again until Monday. We exchanged contact information, and he tried to give me $100 as collateral for my tire, which I told him was unnecessary.

I wished him luck and continued on my way to the restaurant, where I was handed a plain brown paper bag and the sad news that dinner consisted of braised lamb, cauliflower soup, and a cookie:

None of which appealed to me.

As I neared home, I saw the young man was still by the side of the road, but with another car and an older gentleman. I stopped and he told me that Wednesday’s spare didn’t fit, but the older gentleman’s spare tire did. They were applying it as I headed home.

So my record of never eating Michelin starred food remains more or less unbroken. The bread and the cookie were pretty good.

A YEAR AGO: Enjoying time with friends.

FIVE YEARS AGO: An unforgettable performance of A Streetcar Named Desire.

TEN YEARS AGO: My sister is totally amazing.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Driving around in Florida.

The monthly Bored meeting at work fell on Dad’s birthday. It was supposed to be a much longer meeting than usual – and it’s more than long enough – and would mean a much longer day than usual. I decided that I didn’t want to face the lengthy drive home after a day that would be at least 12 and might be as much as 14 hours long, so I asked a local innkeeper and friend if he happened to have a room for that night.

He not only had a room, he gave me a prix d’amie that I thought must be a typo due to its tininess. I double checked that there wasn’t a digit missing, and then happily took him up on his offer.

The morning of the meeting, I packed up my suitcase, checking it for moths since it hadn’t been used in so long, gave the cats as much food and water as their dishes would hold*, and headed out into the morning darkness, admiring the slim golden crescent moon and the bright, silvery Venus hanging over the ocean.

The meeting was changed at the last minute and was much shorter than expected, so I got to the hotel before the sun set. I ordered dinner to be delivered and while I waited for it, went out on the balcony and watched the sun set as the ducks and pelicans swan serenely around the estuary below. I thought of Dad and how much I miss him, and how he would have approved of my working a long day on his birthday, since he loved his work so much. He used to say that he would have done his own work whether he was paid for it or not. He was lucky to feel that way. And I was lucky that he was my Dad.

*I am 99% sure that Clyde ate 50% of it. Lately, he has been more food obsessed than ever, walking all over me in bed and meowing starting around 3 am. Can cats be emotional eaters?

FIVE YEARS AGO: Wild turkeys and secretly expensive wine.

TEN YEARS AGO: A day at the beach.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Thinking about Dad. And Mom.

Dad heading to school, circa 1936

My father was born on this day in 1931.

He left us too soon, on August 18, 2001, at the age of 70. As I approach 60 – I am turning 58 this June – it is a little alarming to think that at my age, he only had 12 years left to live. I am consoled that he lived them with Margaret, who I believe was the love of his life. They were so well-suited to each other. They were from similar backgrounds, about the same age, and loved art, traveling, wine, good food, and books. They had many wonderful adventures together, and I am glad to know that the last years of his life were some of the happiest.

Some years, I am happy that I had Dad in my life and had that kind of love and support which I now realize many people – even most – never have. I was lucky to have experienced being loved by someone who knew all the worst things about me and loved me anyway. But the grief is the price of the love, and this year, I am sad and angry that I lost him so long ago and so young.

If you’re joining this telenovela in progress, here’s a brief recap. Dad was taken off blood thinners for a routine gall bladder surgery, and the hospital staff forgot to put him back on them, so he died of a blood clot in his sleep the night before he was supposed to be released from the hospital.

Life has never been the same.

I know Dad wouldn’t want me to be sad when I thought of him. So I will try to think about this little boy, so excited about his first day of school, just the beginning of a fine academic career that would culminate in a PhD in organic chemistry and a Doctor of Science degree awarded to him by the Queen Mother herself. He loved his work, and made important contributions both to the world of science, and the world.

Little did that boy imagine how far he would go in life or how many adventures were ahead of him. It may have been short, but it was a wonderful life.

A YEAR AGO: A festive birthday celebration.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Remembering Dad and the happy, golden summers we spent in Maine.

TEN YEARS AGO: A chilly birthday.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A visit to one of the most beautiful beaches in America. Again, I’m sorry to say that the photos didn’t come through, but you can have a peek here.

Well, hello there!

I was driving down the Ridge one morning, not far from the sign above, when I noticed that I had an unexpected companion.

A jack rabbit was running ahead of Wednesday, his giant ears spotlit in the high beams. Like most travelers on this road, he was pretty much using the middle of the narrow roadway, making it impossible to pass him. I worried about how scared he must be of the giant, noisy predator behind him, and turned off the high beams in the hopes of being slightly less terrifying (less crappy is our goal!).

By now, he was sort of weaving back and forth across the road, perhaps in a misguided attempt to avoid the light, or the car, or both. I was now going about 20 miles an hour, which just shows how fast rabbits can run. Faster than some tourists can drive!

I was beginning to wonder if this was going to continue all the way to the highway, and what would happen if it did, and why he didn’t get off the road and into the woods, like deer usually do. He finally saw a place that looked better to him than our leisurely pursuit, and hopped away onto the grass and off the road. I hope he relaxed the rest of the day, but rabbits, like Suzys, tend to be worriers.

Before I reached the highway, which had never seemed so far away, I passed a wild turkey sitting calmly on the Ridge. Fortunately for me, I could drive around him, since wild turkeys don’t move for anyone. He was completely unperturbed and acted as the car wasn’t even there.

Approaching the ocean, I could see a wide swath of silvery moonlight from the still huge moon, beaming across the black ocean.

When I finally got to work that day, I got out of the car, collected my purple Hello Kitty handbag and my lunch, and started to walk toward the building. A young deer was walking calmly across the parking lot, just feet away from me. She paused and looked at me before resuming her stroll. As is often the way, another deer emerged from the bushes next to the clinic, and then another. Soon, the whole family – mother, father, and baby deer – were walking together, their hooves clicking as they made their way into the trees surrounding the property. They did not seem scared at all. And I was enchanted.

FIVE YEARS AGO: We lost Megan’s sweet cat Ramona. Her sister, the Beautiful Harriet, is still with us at nearly 19 years old!

TEN YEARS AGO: You know your shopping expedition has been successful when it includes a pair of bee boots for your sister.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: More shopping, but Southern style. I’m sorry to say the pictures formerly linked in the post have been lost in transition.

Well, this was the Mondayest Monday ever – the day after the dreaded time change. You know, the one where they steal an hour of our weekend and then expect us to get up extra early the next day, merrily adding insult to injury. You know a week that starts with a full (super) moon right after the hour theft and ends with Friday the 13th is going to be a weird one. There was also an earthquake on Sunday night, a long, slow one that was a little alarming, but didn’t damage anything.

Oddly enough, I felt just fine the morning after, despite being a robbery victim. I actually got up 15 minutes before the alarm went off, just as I usually do. Go figure. I was trying not to think about the purloined time, much like I used to do when I went to London all the time. I just adapted to the time zone I was in and didn’t think about how it was midnight or yesterday or whatever back in San Francisco.

Whatever it was, it didn’t really bother me this year.

Back in the olden times, on Saturday, I went over to the property for a Girl Night™ with Megan and Lu. I had a peek in the greenhouse and the garden. Here’s how it looked:

The peach trees were in bloom. So were the plum trees:

The plum trees are very popular with the bees. The trees just hum with them.

Inside the greenhouse, things are rocking and rolling. There’s lettuce, bok choy, and green onions*. Also Megan’s Meyer lemon tree:

Outside, the strawberry plants are beginning to leaf out and there are still some hardy herbs, like rosemary and thyme. Most of the garden is still asleep, but spring has definitely arrived.

When Rob drove me home, the moon was so bright that I didn’t need my flashlight. It was amazing to see it beaming over the ocean.

*These always make me think of my mother’s father, who grew them and loved them. Sometimes he’d walk back to the house humming and eating a green onion, somehow looking like a little farm boy instead of a grown man.

A YEAR AGO: If there’s anything more fun than pizza in the present and gowns from the past, I don’t know what it is!

FIVE YEARS AGO: We all got plunged into darkness again. But my brother also plunged into the icy river. For a good cause.

TEN YEARS AGO: Winter was making a comeback.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: It may have been winter everywhere else, but it was spring training in Florida.

We’re perfectly good!

My unauthorized kitties have been driving me a little bit crazy lately. Well, even the authorized one, to be honest.

Audrey, the authorized cat and official cat of the household, hates Dodge, the interloper. I don’t think a day goes by that she isn’t growling and hissing at him, which he tends to ignore. Maybe that just fans the flames of her discontent. I would love to have a day free of cat spats.

Not much bothers Dodge. He likes to sleep touching me, he likes to be petted, and he still does his charming trick of jumping up to push against my legs (or anyone’s, really). His purr is so loud I’m surprised that my unseen neighbor Alex hasn’t complained about it. Surprisingly for a cat who was starved and partly furless from exposure, he is unconcerned about food. Maybe knowing he can always get it has made him not worry about this.

Clyde, on the other hand…

Clyde has always been a food enthusiast, but some reason lately he is obsessed. He starts nagging me to get up and feed him around 3 am, which is not my favorite time to be woken up. He walks around on me making his distinctive Clydesounds™ and is relentless. When I feed the cats, he is always underfoot and I am convinced I am going to trip over him and break my neck. I wonder how long it will be before he starts to eat me if I do.

In an effort to stay alive and less annoyed, I have started giving Clyde and Audrey CBD oil. Dodge is already mellow and does not require further mellowing. I was hoping the CBD would help Audrey’s ability to jump on the bed. She has been sort of climbing up by the comforter (and me) instead. But it hasn’t had the miraculous effect it had on Megan’s nearly 19 year old cat Harriet, at least, not yet.

Of course, Clyde’s food obsession does not extend to canned food, which he disdains. I give Audrey her CBD oil in canned food, and she eats it, but Clyde won’t eat wet food, so I tried putting it on his kibble. He was not happy. So I am now putting three drops on his kibble and mixing it up, and will work my way up to 9 drops. You would think a native Mendocino boy would be happy to ingest hemp, but nothing is simple when it comes to cats.

A YEAR AGO: Taking a little break in town in the midst of an atmospheric river.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Thankful for my friends when I couldn’t get home from work.

TEN YEARS AGO: An enjoyable noir evening. I note that I mention Jessie Royce Landis in the post, and she was also in the episode of Columbo I watched last night.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I finally got to see the beautiful mermaids at Weeki Wachee Springs. Ever since I was a kid, I thought the mermaids and the Rockettes were magical. I still do.

It had been far too long since I had seen my brother Jonathan and his girlfriend Rio. In fact. The last time may have been our slightly late and slightly power outaged Thanksgiving. It’s a bit shocking, when you think that we live in the same minuscule hamlet and are two of the three siblings.

But our schedules are different, I live further away now – it’s about a 20 minute drive instead of a two minute drive – and Rio was busy with business and family things in her native LA. But one day, Jonathan texted me and asked if I was free for dinner the next day. As it happened, I was, though Megan wasn’t – her schedule has been odder than ever lately – so I wended my way over the river (and creek) and through the woods to Rio’s house.

I immediately noticed that the big brick hearth was missing from the living room. It had a wood stove perched on it at one time, and the hearth itself took up a lot of the limited floor space (Rio reckons that her house is about 700 square feet). Without it, there’s room for two chairs next to the couch and it really opens the room up. They kept the brick on the wall, which looks nice.

They also converted part of the cider house into a guest room. Our friend Clayton came up to professionally tape and mud the drywall Jonathan put up, and it looks great. There’s even a little deck off the room, overlooking the woods.

We had chicken curry for dinner, accompanied by this year’s cider, and they were both delicious. Jonathan has made a still, which is now being tweaked and is hopefully in the final stages before the cider he set aside for this purpose can be transformed into apple brandy. He said that making his own still has made him realize how very unrealistic the one was on MASH, adding that they do not pump out unlimited amounts of perfectly clear booze on demand. Once again, reality disappoints. But I am looking forward to this science experiment.

We had home-made chocolate ice cream for dinner, a change from home-grown fruit sorbet. The garden is just beginning, with lettuce and green onions in the greenhouse along with some starts.

It was a wonderful evening. Rio is heading to LA for the birth of her fourth grandson this month, and I think my brother and I should cook dinner together while she’s gone. And get together more often when she’s home.

I was long overdue for a visit to Angelika, both inside and out. I left work early one day and made my way to her little studio in the big woods. It was yet another eerily beautiful day, where you wouldn’t know it was February except for the daffodils and calla lilies everywhere. I don’t think we have had any rain since February 3. I hope there isn’t another drought and/or fierce fire season heading our way.

Angelika greeted me with a big hug and we went into the salon together. Her records revealed that I had not had my lovely locks attended to since August 23! I think it’s a credit to her artistry that they still looked pretty good. She cut two inches off and highlighted what was left, and we enjoyed chatting and catching up in the four hours it took to restore me to a better and blonder self.

Angelika is always so inspiring. She is an amazing artiste with scissors and dye, which needs some practicality, but she is also very philosophical and spiritual. Being with her really does refresh my inner being as well as my outer husk. I am hoping that she, Megan, and I can meet up outside of the salon soon.

Speaking of meeting up, Megan and I had a plan to meet Monica at our favorite seaside bar. The parking lot was oddly empty for a Saturday night, and there was a small sign on the door saying that they were closed until March 11. Megan texted Monica that we were relocating our evening out to the other bar in Hooterville (really, it’s somewhat surprising that there are two).

Also surprising was the fact that Bar Two does not have a cocktail menu. Megan and I couldn’t decide what to have, so we threw ourselves on the mercy of the bartender, who came up with a libation of gin, pineapple, triple sec, and a dash of lemon-lime shaken with ice:

It was quite delicious and not at all sweet. When Monica joined us, she opted for a classic gin and tonic with Bombay Sapphire, so we were all drinking gin. I read an article recently about how hand crafted gin is having a moment. It certainly was in that bar that night!

It was good to spend time with my sister and our friend, relaxing among neighbors and visitors as the sun slipped into the ocean.

A YEAR AGO: Feeling better led to a housework extravaganza.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Home repairs brought to me by Rob, as most of them are. And the best fan letter ever!

TEN YEARS AGO: Country mysteries.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Weathering the storms in the Sunshine State.

No Change In Sight

We have had a long string of sunny days, with temperatures in the 50s, and even dipping a hesitant toe into the 60s. It’s a little eerie. We have only had about 20 inches of rain this season, and at this point, I can’t believe we are going to get anything significant.

On the bright side, the endless brightness means that Megan and Jonathan can do laundry and vacuum whenever they want, since they rely on sun power for all their power. When the sun is not sunny, they can’t do power-intensive things like laundry and vacuuming, since such activities deplete the batteries too quickly. An excellent excuse to avoid housework!

The weather also makes for ideal driving conditions: dry roads with few tourists. It’s a little too early for visitors who drive fifteen to twenty miles under the speed limit in their shiny, clean, expensive cars, so I can zip to work in the dark mornings and drive home in the still light evenings with a minimum of frustration.

The fact that it’s usually light when I get home means that the madness (and maddeningness) of the time change can’t be far away. I wish the politicians would hurry up and ratify the time change stoppage that Californians overwhelmingly voted for last year, but then I wish politicians would do a lot of things.

Speaking of home, there has been progress on the septic system surgery, as I can see:

I’m not sure what is going on there, but something is. Whatever needs to be done to keep the sewage going in the right direction and firmly diverted away from my kitchen sink is fine with me. It seems that the septic surgeons don’t need access to my house to do whatever they need to do, and they are only here when I’m not, so that’s about all the information I have for now.

Back in the house, I have added a new element to the decor. I fell in love with this shiny object:

I think it looks perfect with the mid century-ish decor:

So far none of the cats have knocked it off the table, which is a plus. After all, if the world was flat, cats would have pushed everything off it by now.

It was an unromantic and unenjoyable Valentine’s Day at Chez Suzy.

Once again, my sinks were full of sewage (but empty of dishes). Once again my landlord Danielle came to the rescue, helping to clean up and, perhaps more importantly, calling the septic surgeon and pleading with him to come and operate on the wayward septic system.

It’s pretty hard to say no to Danielle, and the septic wizard was no exception to this rule. It’s reassuring to know there are some things in this crazy world that a girl can count on. Whatever the septic wizard did, it fixed the situation, and he apparently needs to come back and do something to clear the roots out for good. With my limited understanding of this subject, it sounds like the issue is partly that my house is far away from the septic tank and leach field, located near Danielle’s house, and partly that the redwood trees, while beautiful and majestic, have serious roots which are seriously encroaching on the pipe leading from my house to the septic tank. So the experts will have to ream it out somehow. It sounds both icky and expensive. What’s not to hate? I’m just happy I can flush the toilet again.

It’s the little things in life.

While cleaning up the aftermath, the power went out, despite the clear skies and complete lack of wind or anything else that usually leads to power outages. It was either someone driving into a pole, which seemed unlikely, given how far down the road I live and how lightly populated it is at this point (at least by humans), or inept tree fellers employed by our frenemies at PG&E, which seemed more likely. In an attempt to restore their popularity after inflicting the days-long power outage on us, they are starting to cut back trees and do the work they should have done years ago. And in order to do this, they have been hiring people who are not as skilled as they should be.

I discovered that 30 people were affected by the outage, which made me feel really special. Later I learned the pole in question was just outside my gate. Fortunately, heat and light were restored before darkness fell, and it was high time for some sparkling pink wine. Here’s to working plumbing and electricity!

A YEAR AGO: The seemingly endless loop of being sick and the power going out.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Farewell to the jobette.

TEN YERAS AGO: The many joys of the Citrus Fair with Megan, Lu, and Jessica. Jessica was so little! And I miss her so much.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some Florida lessons.

So…I have a confession to make.

When I applied for this house, I was a little inexact about the exact cat population at Chez Suzy. I felt – correctly, as it turned out – that if I admitted to having three cats, I would be immediately disqualified as a potential tenant. Three cats seemed perilously close to Crazy Cat Lady territory, not a neighborhood considered desirable by most (or any) landlords. So I only admitted to the existence of Audrey, in the belief that she was the most likely to be seen by the landlord.

In my defense, it is almost impossible to find a place that allows any form of pet, and I had been looking for almost a year before I found this place, which also is lovelier than my wildest dreams. I assumed I would just move into another eccentric hippie house. Imagine my surprise when I saw this place, not to mention my desperate wish to live here.

Needless to say, after I moved in, I was constantly worried that my landlord would find out the cats were a trio, rather than a solo act, and of course, it happened. She came in one day when I wasn’t home to check on the septic system. She didn’t call or text or otherwise let me know ahead of time, and I was at work, as she could clearly see, since my car was gone. She knew quite well I wasn’t home.

Of course, she discovered the unauthorized cats and freaked out, which in turn freaked me out, fearing that I would end up either homeless or catless. I discovered this in a series of agitated texts while I was in a library board meeting. I called her after the meeting and she basically said I had to rehome two of the cats.

I called the free legal service provided by my work, and was amazed to discover that I didn’t have a leg (or a paw) to stand on. All you hear is how tenants have all the rights and it’s so hard to get rid of them and everything is in their favor, but the polar opposite is true. I thought my landlord had committed a crime by deliberately entering my rented premises when I wasn’t there and without my permission. Apparently this is only a problem if it’s “a pattern”. The real problem is that I broke my lease by having two unauthorized cats. Oh, and because I’ve lived there less than a year, my landlord only has to give me 30 days’ notice to move out, and take my legal and illegal felines with me.

I sent my landlord an email, apologizing sincerely and basically begging to keep my beloved cats. She was willing to listen, and there was a back and forth between us. She said she would need another $500 pet deposit, which I was glad to agree to (though I had no idea how I would come up with the money), and she wanted to check the premises monthly, which I also agreed to.

The inspection finally happened this past Sunday. I think it was good that we talked face to face. I again apologized and she said her issue was really with trust, not with the cats, and I totally understand that. She told me some personal things, which I took to be working towards rebuilding our trust, and went through the house. She remarked on how nice it looked, which made me feel good, and though she pointed out some scratches on a couple of the redwood beams, I truly believe they are old and not caused by my cats. I said I wished we had done this before I moved in, and she agreed. She took photos of everything.

Audrey is 13, Clyde is 10, and Dodge is 3. As they pass away, I’m not planning to replace them, and will end up with just one cat, and I let her know that.

We chatted a bit when she left, and as she walked toward her house she said, “I’ll get you the paperwork,” which I hope means that everything is all right. I will always be honest with her going forward, and I hope that we can mend our relationship and be good neighbors for years to come.

A YEAR AGO: It was snowing! And I was under the weather.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A gigantic, scary, power-removing storm. I’d rather have snow, thank you.

TEN YEARS AGO: An illustrious former neighbor.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Getting lost is one of my special talents. They are all pretty much useless.