Suzy Says

When I turn off the highway onto my new(ish) Ridge, I feel like I have successfully left the world behind me and escaped it yet again. Going home, I drive uphill, passing an old inn which stands empty as far as I know, though sometimes there are random lights on in random parts of the building at random times of day. The inn used to be a stage coach stop in the pioneer days, and there are still bullet holes in the ceiling of the parlor. There must be a novel or at least a short story there.

Beyond the inn, there are fields of cows and horses. I’m sorry to report that as we approach the middle of January (and the middle of winter), that the meadows are still wearing some summer gold instead of winter green. We’ve only had about 14 inches of rain, and I am already worried about fire season and drought. But the cows and horses don’t seem to be worried.

As I continue down the road, I pass under bowers of trees:

This ridge seems higher than the old one, and it’s dramatic to see all the hills and redwoods. I have not been able to find a good vantage point to take a picture of this. But I do have visual proof that this is God’s country:

And a bench that agrees with this theory:

After the sign and the bench, I cross a narrow redwood bridge, shaded by tall redwoods. At this point, the road stops pretending that it’s two lanes and becomes one. If I meet a neighbor, one of us pulls over so the other can pass. There are fewer cars on this ridge, and we almost always wave at each other when we pass, even when we don’t know each other. It’s a neighborly place.

I recently learned that the place I think of as the Waltons’, since the house reminds me of the one on the long ago TV show, is actually a pineapple-guava ranch:

I had also never heard of, let alone tasted, a pineapple-guava, though I did wonder what all those trees were. Apparently the ranch belongs to a successful author of tween novels like Sweet Valley High, but not actually Sweet Valley High.

It’s not far to my house after that, the road wending its way up and around through the tall, ancient redwoods, with lush ferns and rhododendrons underneath. There is a lot more wildlife here: wild turkeys, foxes, possums, skunks, deer. Sometimes it feels like a magical kingdom. I hope I will be driving down this road for many years to come, arriving at this gate:

to find my kitties looking for me through the glass front door.

A YEAR AGO: The kitties were being naughty. Some things never change!

FIVE YEARS AGO: The horrors of health insurance.

TEN YEARS AGO: A little earthquake. Just a reminder that the big one is coming one day.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: The horrors of flying. I can’t say I miss flying.

Happy New Year!

There has to be some kind of 2020 vision joke I can make here, but maybe because I’ve had glasses for more than half a century (!), I can’t think of one. I did approach 2020 relatively clear-eyed, mostly because I barely made it to the east coast new year, sparkling wine in hand.

Maybe because I was born in New York – and despite the fact that I think of myself as a Californian, having spent most of my adult life here – I still think of the ball drop in New York as the “real” new year. Nothing like fireworks and Sinatra to usher in the clean slate of the new year.

I haven’t really made any resolutions, though perhaps I should blog more often than I have been lately. The fact that I took over my workplace’s Facebook page has made me much less likely to write on my own Facebook page, let alone on my blog, and taking on the chore of being the library board chair has also taken a toll on my always limited free time. There are so many more events and meetings than I anticipated. Not to mention speeches.

I’d also like to spend more time with my family. I realize this sounds odd, considering that all three of us live in Hooterville, but especially since I’ve moved and am now 12 miles away instead of 100 yards or a quarter of a mile has meant we see each other less often. I don’t think we had family dinner all summer, and we didn’t get together for Christmas because of schedules. I’m plotting a get together in early February.

Here’s to the arrival of a new year and all its possibilities!

A YEAR AGO: A very entertaining day – and evening.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A chilly, but tidy start to the new year.

I am pleased to report that 2019 was a vast improvement over the extremely unpleasant 2018. Less crappy! It’s our goal!

The main improvement in my life is that I moved to an incredibly beautiful house, still in Hooterville, but a world away from the drama, weirdness, and strife of the old place.

Books read: A paltry 83, embarrassing compared to last year’s 102, and even more embarrassing considering that I became our local library’s Board President this year. Not exactly setting a shining literary example there.

Rainfall has been on the paltry side too, at a mere 12.5 inches so far this underachieving season. The hills are barely green and it’s nearly January. I hope we aren’t facing another drought.

I lost track of the power outages this year. Given that Their Satanic Majesties (also known as PG&E) feel they can cut us off for days at a time with utter impunity, I think we can expect the beatings to continue.

Here’s what happened to our heroine this year:

January: The delights of the ballet followed by take out Thai food and a Hitchcock movie with the family. The girls were being good and the boys were being bad. The beginning of a three day power outage. Way to start the year! It’s on! It’s off! It’s winter on the coast! Ending the month as it began, with a wonderful evening at the ballet.

February: Thinking about the past. There was snow! Beautiful snow! I love snow! I did not love having the Bug from Hell, however. The dangers of housework.

March: A little vacation in town, in the midst of an atmospheric river. A delightful trip to the past. The combined horrors of dental bills (which I did have to pay, of course), the time change, and yet more dental work. Hoping that the madness of the time change will eventually go away, though the horrors of bills and dental work are eternal. We celebrated Dad’s birthday in style, with home-made cider, good food, a great Hitchcock movie, and lots of love. Brightening my hair and my outlook. Dinner with Erica and Jessica. There are no words for how much I miss them.

April: An unexpected (and unnerving) funeral. Boys will be boys. Especially Dodge and Clyde. So nice to see how much they love each other. Getting crowned. And not in a good way. An unpleasant surprise. My blog turned 18 and Jessica turned 16. Guess which one is more mature? A fantastic trip to the South Coast with Megan and Lu, including a fascinating lecture on female lighthouse keepers.

May: I found a new house to rent! It is beautiful and I still can hardly believe I actually live there. A wonderful barbecue at Rio’s place, with lots of friends and family. The best kind! Wildlife, inside and out. Water, water everywhere. I picked a good time to move. Taking a trip down Memory Lane while going through the seemingly endless supply of boxes. Neither here nor there. Moving Day! And Megan’s birthday!

June: I got internet for my birthday. Just what I wanted! Unpacking. With a vengeance. And without caffeine. My brothers valiantly unpacked the ancient grandfather clock. It’s official! I’m home! Getting to know the new and fancy appliances in my new house. And I have a house key for the first time in 10 years! The cats adjusted to their new home. And speaking of cats: Dodge dislodged the window screen in the bedroom. Fortunately there was no permanent harm done to cat or screen.

July: Natural wonders, from earthquakes to foxes. A delightful evening with the Flynn Creek Circus. Is there any other kind? Jarrett and Kalli are engaged! Wedding will be in the spring of 2021 on the family estate. Hooray! A look around my beautiful new home. It’s like a dream that I actually live here. My commute isn’t bad, either.

August: A fun Sunday without ever leaving Hooterville. Alert the media! I actually went to the movies! It was really fun, too. Hello darkness, my old enemy. And farewell to another lovely library board member, at the ripe old age of 94. Her ashes joined her husband’s at Wage’s Creek and they are together at last. A fairly successful attempt at making Montreal style bagels. A completely perfect day to kick off an extra long weekend.

September: Helping to set up a very successful book sale for the library. A delicious trip to the South Coast. Yet another new appliance in my new house!

October: Bears, bears, everywhere! I somehow became the library Board President. There are far too many speeches and events involved. More bears. And gas. It turns out you can have too much. Only I could turn buying a couch cushion into an epic adventure. The tenth anniversary of my move to Hooterville. A lot has happened over the decade. Moving here was one of the few good decisions I have made as an adult.

November: The horror of a five day power out(r)age brought to us by the corruption, greed, and neglect of PG&E. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they aren’t. You think a long, unnecessary power outage is bad, until you wake up to discover a sink full of raw sewage. The fun and companionship of hula class. And the joy and beauty of the local symphony. There’s nothing more fun than girl night!

December: A stormy, but happy, Thanksgiving. The only thing more fun than the Festival of Lights is seeing it with your friends and their family. The happy tradition of Candlelight Shopping in the Village. And a happy holiday season.

Thanks for coming along with me for the ride. Here’s to the New Year!

Christmas week was always going to be a weird one. Work one day, off two days, back at work two days. I kicked off the festivities with another Girl Night™ at Chez Megan on Monday night after work. I brought the snacks, and Megan made scalloped potatoes for dinner and the signature drink of Girl Night™, the Elle Woods:

It is a dangerously delicious libation of frozen estate grown strawberries, lemonade, and strawberry-infused vodka whirled in the blender and then enjoyed with movies.

The evening’s program was a little more Rob friendly than last time, and he actually watched them with us: One for the Money, which Megan and I actually saw (7 years ago! How is this possible?) at the movie theater when it first came out, My Cousin Vinny, and School of Rock. Megan and Rob hadn’t seen School of Rock before, though it’s one of my favorites, and I think it’s now one of theirs, too.

When Rob and I walked to the car together – he drives me home after all those Elle Woods – we were amazed by how the sky was a huge bowl of glittering stars on that cold winter night.

On Christmas Eve, I made a nice dinner of pork roast, Yorkshire pudding, and salad with some wine. My Christmas decorations had been on the minimal side, with a pretty wreath on the door:

and a little tree on the table:

But one of my coworkers had other ideas. She bought me a tree and lights and gave them to me along with her gifts. All the way home that night, I smiled, feeling so loved and cared for. I have to say, having it set up and sparkling does make a big difference and made me really feel the holiday spirit:

On Christmas Day itself, I spent some time making Montreal style bagels, watched the Queen’s speech, which is always inspiring, and later, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and the Grinch before opening my gifts, which were delightful.

The next day, I was back at work, and Megan stopped by my office to bring me gifts from Erica and Jessica, which included what is almost certainly the world’s cutest pen and eraser:

All in all, it was a happy Christmas.

A YEAR AGO: A not very festive Christmas.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A lovely Christmas.

TEN YEARS AGO: A merry Christmas.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A rather adventurous Christmas.

The Village, All Aglow

One of my favorite annual traditions is Candlelight Shopping in the Village, even if I don’t buy anything. I love seeing the quaint shops all dressed up for the holidays, shining with holiday lights and glowing with candles in Mason jars on their steps.

Megan and I started our evening at Luna Trattoria. Knowing that there are no reservations and that the restaurant fills up quickly, we decided it would be our first stop. The pasta maker waved at us cheerfully as we passed his window, and in no time, we were seated at a table overlooking the Village, with this charming little guy watching over us:

As always, the food was excellent. Megan had grilled prawns with pasta, and I had carbonara:

a simple dish which is quite difficult to make successfully. It made us reminisce about the first time we had it, 35 years ago, in our friend Davide’s country house on Lago Maggiore. The house had been in his family for generations, and still had a dirt floor in the kitchen. I seem to remember there was cold running water, but not hot. Still, when I think of visiting there, I think of the amazing food Dad and Davide cooked (they used to joke that one day they would give up science and open a restaurant called Il Duo Davidi, or The Two Davids) and the many, many bottles of wine we drank together.

Back in the present, we thought a bottle of Prosecco would be a festive accompaniment to dinner, and so it was. We started our dinner with perfect bruschetta:

Again, something so simple that can be difficult to make well. I had to wonder where they got such good tomatoes in the dead of winter. Megan mentioned that this year, they are doing a winter garden in the greenhouse at the family estate, so I need to go over there and check it out.

Replete with dinner, we fought our way through the huddled masses waiting to be seated in the restaurant and out into the crisp evening air. We enjoyed meandering through the candlelit streets, meeting friends here and there as the stars sparkled overhead. I didn’t buy anything this year, but I did enjoy the festive look and feel of the Village in its candlelit holiday glory:

and resisted this adorable (and expensive*) plate:

As we headed home, I thought about the lovely evening we had shared and the holidays ahead. There was a lot to be happy about. And I always have fun with my sister.

*If you love me $143 worth, you can buy it here.

A YEAR AGO: We were skipping Christmas then, too, but enjoying the Festival of Lights.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Our friend Lichen was living in a giant wine cask.

TEN YEARS AGO: Being a cat doorman is not all that glamorous.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Hm. It seems this Grinchy thing is not exactly new news.

It’s the most sparkly time of the year! Time for the Festival of Lights at the Botanical Gardens, our annual tradition. Friday the thirteenth was the day (or night) we chose, and it was far from unlucky.

For one thing, the parking goddess smiled on Megan as she usually does, and we parked right in front of the entrance. For another thing, we met up with our friends Lu and Rik, together with Rik’s daughter Rachel, her boyfriend David, and their adorable baby Dean, who you may recall made his charming debut on this blog not long after he made his world debut. He will be two in April, which is somewhat amazing. He is a very sweet kid, though a little bewildered by all the attention from all these strange grown ups, so I didn’t take his picture. I am still kind of amazed that Lu and Rik are grandparents. Also that I myself, the Suzy, is old enough for that stature, and not in a tragic, teenage way, either.

Dean was almost as delighted by the sparkling lights as the grown-ups who accompanied him. There’s always something new and delightful to look at, as well as old favorites.

I love seeing the jellyfish floating in the darkness:

And the ship and whale, reminding us of this area’s maritime history:

There was even a fire-breathing dragon swimming past:

It was delightful to wander the paths with our friends, and the predicted rain failed to appear. Lucky again!

We parted ways outside, partly because Dean was getting sleepy, and partly because his great aunts were headed to their favorite bar, and he’s a little too young for that right now.

At the bar, we met the new bartender, who we really like. Our beloved former bartender has moved, though she will (again, luckily!) be making a guest appearance every Wednesday. I am pleased to report that the new bartender made an excellent lemon drop for us, with special Buddha’s hand vodka:

Hand to Buddha, it was delicious! And a very lucky Friday the Thirteenth.

A YEAR AGO: Sneaky Dodge sneaked out of the house, horrifying Clyde and me. Audrey was pretty happy about it until he came back home.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Fortunately, stormageddon did not live up to the hype.

TEN YEARS AGO: Some of us think weeds (not to be confused with weed) can be quite lovable.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: The glamorous days of air travel.

As you might expect in a (very) rural community, there’s been a livestock theme on the local message boards lately. Read on for tips on how to deal with errant cows, old hens, and missing dry cleaners.

Brother, Can You Spare a Hen?

Posting for a friend:

ISO a hen who needs a home. She’d be a companion to two old-lady hens
who are pretty much retired from the egg-laying business, but have
become pampered pets and inseparable companions. One of the old hens is
losing her feathers, could be off to hen Valhalla soon, don’t want
remaining hen to be all alone in the world. No, the stew pot is not an
option.

Can offer: Good secure henhouse at night, all the bugs and grubs a girl
can eat during the day plus nice evening meal of hen chow plus valiant
guard dog who keeps critters away.

My question is how they started their car with the keys in the PO box.

P.O. Box 1172, attention!
Your keys are dangling in the lock.

Good thing none of my clothes are dry clean only. There may be a reason for that…

The jewelry store on Franklin that let you drop off and pick up cleaning
(that was done in Ukiah) has decided to stop offering this service as of
now. If you have clothing there, get it soon, and they also
no longer take credit cards, so take cash or check.

This means that until someone else decides to take on this (apparently
thankless) task, there is no place to take dry cleaning on the Coast.
(something about having to listen to complaints about the cleaning
despite having no control over the outcome.)

Until then, don’t wear silk, I guess.

I’ve heard of tiny houses, but 22 cubic feet seems a little small for even the shortest geezer…

Upright Freezer

this geezer wants to sell his freezer!
22cf Frost Free right hinged
lived inside … some minor dents on sides
has shelves and baskets and burned out interior light bulb
$100 and you transport it
Rick 961-XXXX

The saga of the cattle. Go north, young cows!

4 brown & white cows wandering on XXXX road at 6:40 am
just west of XXXX Ranch, they went north.

Now all 4 cows are in my yard on Rd XX snacking on apples. Friendly
and loving. Come get them. Tag says XXX.

Good morning!!! Cows are back with more friends! Word must be out about our apples. Anyone know the farmer?

Learned this from my Grandad – walk up to the lead cow – you have to know how to identify such – and point a closed umbrella right at the face of the cow, but with the tip about three feet away, then swiftly open the umbrella, and usually yell something like “Truman’s comin’ fa ya”, depending on yer inclinations, and said cow will hitail it back to the barn, and all her sisters (or brothers) will follow dutifully behind. He claimed it always worked, and actually demonstrated it to me once, and I did indeed witness the technique’s efficacy.

[Apparently, it worked!]

The cows are home. Thanks to everyone who helped herd them in the
right direction!

I’m glad all the cows are home now and have “mooved” in the right direction out of your yard.

Sounds like someone was having fun at the beach…

A woman’s bathing suit top was found at the beach at the lighthouse. Anyone know of anyone missing it? xxxx@mcn.org

A YEAR AGO: An amazing presentation of King Lear.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Holiday decorations. I’m sorry to tell you that the Charlie Brown tree did not move with me. It has been permanently retired.

TEN YEARS AGO: Things were a little scary inside the house. And out.

FFIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Rainy day blues.

The week leading up to Thanksgiving was a stormy one. The Ridge was covered with redwood needles, fallen twigs, branches, and general debris. One night driving home from work, it was so foggy and stormy that I could barely see the road. In fact, I couldn’t see the turn off from the highway to the Ridge, so I guessed. I was close: I ended up in the pullout at the foot of the Ridge. I drove down the middle of the road at 20 miles an hour, hoping for the best. I wanted to drive faster and get the hell off the road, but the visibility made even 20 about as fast as I could safely go. I was so glad to get home!

We were hoping that Clayton could join us from the City, but the weather was too bad for that four hour drive, especially on a motorcycle.

We celebrated Thanksgiving on Saturday, so I had some extra time to get things ready. Over the years, I have learned that the key to surviving the holidays is to do as much in advance as possible. So I made the cranberry sauce, dressing and roasted pears for the salad, cut up the bread to get stale for dressing/stuffing, and roasted and peeled the chestnuts:

Like every year, I forgot how horrible it is to peel chestnuts until I was actually doing it, even though I let them steam in a tea towel for fifteen minutes after roasting, which is supposed to make it easier.

It doesn’t.

Oddly, I never seem to have trouble peeling chestnuts I buy from street vendors in Paris, served in a paper cone. Maybe it’s being in Paris.

The house was pretty clean, so I didn’t worry about that, either. I did trap the boys in the bachelor pad (Megan’s old dog crate, fitted out with a comfy quilt) and close the bedroom doors to keep Audrey in. Audrey disdains company, but I didn’t want to take any chances on an escape attempt happening while people were going in and out.

On the day itself, I was putting the turkey breasts into the oven and thinking how lucky I was that my guests were almost entirely very capable cooks, ready to spring into action if something went wrong in the kitchen. Jonathan made the gravy while Rob mashed the potatoes. Everything was ready:

when the power went out. Sighing, I headed to the closet to get the power outage box with its lanterns and headlights. Bu the time I had it all set up, the power was back on again. We kept the lanterns out just in case, but I’m pleased to say we didn’t need them.

Dinner was fabulous. I was too busy eating and talking to take many photos. We had last year’s cider:

This year’s model wasn’t ready yet. Jonathan is planning to make vinegar and applejack from cider this winter, so stay tuned.

We finished off dinner with wild huckleberry tarts and a pie made from butternut squash we grew:

It was a wonderful evening. I’m very thankful for my family. No matter what life throws at me, they are always there for me.

Ready to go!

It was definitely time for girl night!

Unfortunately for Megan, she had to teach a CPR class that day, so I ventured to the Village to pick up a pizza from Café Beaujolais, where they create amazing pizzas in their wood-fired brick oven. Keeping in mind the line that defeated me a few weeks ago, I got there right as they opened, ordering a pizza with salami, capers, and red onions. I sat in the sun in the beautiful garden as I waited, and noted that there was an alarming line by about noon. So the secret seems to be out and the pizza place is apparently going to be the new Swan Oyster Depot, a place of legendary lines.

When Megan’s class was over, she came by and picked me up. We stopped in at the Gro to get caramel ice cream and ginger cookies, and then headed to Megan’s place, where I was enthusiastically greeted by Star, who I am convinced remembers that I was there the day she was rescued, and Stella, who I am convinced is just copying Star’s enthusiasm because it is clearly the thing to do.

As you can see in the photo, Megan had equipped us with a bottle of strawberry infused vodka for Girl Night™. Fortunately for us, there was also a freezer full of strawberries from the garden. Megan blitzed frozen strawberries with some lemonade, then poured it into a pitcher with the vodka and more lemonade:

It was magically delicious, and I think we now have the official cocktail of Girl Night™. It needs a good name, though. The Elle Woods? It is her signature color, after all.

We thoroughly enjoyed our girl-o-rama double feature of Sweet Home Alabama and 13 Going on 30, probably more than Rob did, though he is remarkably tolerant of the silly movies, giggling, and driving his sister-in-law home after a few Elle Woods, especially now this is 12 miles one way instead of a few hundred feet or a quarter of a mile, the way it was in the old days.

I’m already planning the next double feature: a somewhat more Rob friendly combo of One for the Money and My Cousin Vinny.

A YEAR AGO: What do you know? A fun evening with my sister!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A wonderful Thanksgiving.

TEN YEARS AGO: Baby Jessica! Even then, we shared a deep love of glamor.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Thanksgiving with Mom. In the hospital. It would be her last Thanksgiving. Miss you, Mom.

Tuning Up

Usually the arts seem to all be located on the magical south coast. This time, instead of heading south, I went north to the Big Town one fine Sunday afternoon (is it ever going to rain?). I arrived at the lovely auditorium, which was featured in these pages a few years ago*, a few minutes late for the pre-concert lecture. Being a small town, they told me to take a seat and come back later to pay for the concert.

I enjoyed the lecture, which gave a background on the musicians who wrote the music we were about to hear, as well as some history on the music itself. It was fascinating to learn all this right before hearing the music. The program included Mozart’s Overture to The Marriage of Figaro, Schumann’s Violin Concerto in D minor, and Mendelssohn’s Symphony #3 in A minor, Opus 56 “Scottish”.
When the lecture was over, I went out and paid for my ticket, got a program, and went back to my seat to read it before the show started. The musicians were a mixture of local and guest musicians, and they were wonderful. I especially enjoyed the performance of a young guest violinist, who plays violin made in 1761 and whose performance had been described to me as “fiery”. I have to agree that is the perfect description. It was a joy to hear and see him.

The whole thing was a joy, really. It was wonderful to sit in a hall filled with my neighbors and friends and have the magnificent music wash over me. I really felt in the moment.

The orchestra received the standing ovation they deserved at the end of the performance. As I was driving away, I passed several of the musicians loading their instruments into their cars and waved at them, yet another little bit of applause from a very thankful recipient of their gifts. I am already looking forward to the next concert in February.

*In reading this, I realize that Flynn Creek Circus did not have their distinctive red and white striped tent then. This may be the only time I have seen them somewhere other than the tent. Who knew?

A YEAR AGO: Thanksgiving at Rio’s house. And a farewell to our much-loved Erica and Jessica. I still miss them. And life is a lot less festive without them.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Somehow Thanksgiving sneaked up on me while I was in San Francisco.

TEN YEARS AGO: Getting ready for T Day.

I noticed on the local message boards that there was a series of six hula classes being given at the Caspar Community Center at 4:00 on Thursday. I checked my schedule and decided that I could get there in time – Caspar is the next town south from the Big Town where I work, so it’s on the way home – and off I went in the darkening evening.

Arriving at the community center, I found the three teachers, who are all native Hawaiians, a few kids, and about 10 other grown-ups. Clearly, I was the only one coming from work, and I felt a bit silly in my faux adult attire, especially since everyone else was wearing pretty skirts. Not to worry, though. One of the teachers wrapped me in a colorful batik scarf. I took off my shoes, and we all stood in a circle holding hands. Pretty much everyone but me knew the chants that followed, but I just listened with my eyes closed, feeling my feet grounded and the warm presence of the other dancers as they praised their higher power and asked for guidance.

We started by learning a dance about shells. The kids joined in this one. I was interested to learn that every gesture has a meaning: shell; shore; island; flower; ocean, etc. Before starting the second dance, we learned some history about its origins and the place it was written so we could understand the story we were telling. I loved learning all the history. The dancing is harder than you would think by looking at it, but I did the best I could, with the encouragement of the teachers and the other dancers. I really enjoyed it, and it gave me the gift of really being in the moment.

At the end, we did the circle again, and I felt enfolded in the warmth of my sister dancers and the stories we had told together. I am looking forward to the next classes.

A YEAR AGO: The 100th anniversary of Armistice Day. Thank you to all who served and continue to serve.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Attempting to run errands in San Francisco, with varying degrees of success.

TEN YEARS AGO: Feeling like Sanford & Son.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A cold. And a piano.

It’s not really a garage. It’s Queenie’s.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and it seemed like a perfect day to have breakfast at Queenie’s. As I walked out to the car, I noticed that the quality of the light and the air were somehow different than it is in the summer. It’s hard to explain exactly how, but seasons are more subtle here than they are back east. Having said that, I was delighted to discover that the leaves on the tree next to the kitchen deck have changed from green to gold in a quite eastern manner:

Not many trees have color changing leaves here where temperature changes are too modest to inspire the annual display of brilliance found in places where it’s unbearably hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. It rarely gets down to 32F/0C in the winter, and while we get the occasional heat wave in the summer, it’s not usually excessively hot, either, and it generally cools off at night.The seasons are more like: rain; no rain; fog; rain again.

We were in a no rain period when I headed to the beautiful south coast. It was one of those postcard days, with the blue waves crashing into white foam against the dark rocks, the sun sparkling on the water. Arriving at Queenie’s, I was lucky enough to get a window table. Next to me was a table of four white-haired gentlemen, who were having breakfast together and enjoying an animated discussion. It was nice to see people hanging out together and enjoying each other’s company instead of being on their phones. I had the impression that this was a long-standing tradition for these friends. After they finished eating, they all loaded into one pick up truck and drove off laughing, with the windows down.

My breakfast was fabulous: potatoes with sautéed onions, roasted garlic, green chilis, and smoked Gouda, topped with two eggs. Queenie herself came out to say hello – we are acquaintances from the Ledford House bar* – and I was surprised she remembered my name. She said, “Thank you for enjoying the food!” and I said, “Thank you for cooking it!” It was nice to see her. And breakfast was excellent.

As I left, I couldn’t help noticing the beautiful view across the street:

I headed to the Village after breakfast, with the intention of getting a pizza from the ever-delicious Café Beaujolais. By the time I got there, it was 1:00 in the afternoon, and I really should have known better. There were 6-8 people in line, which I knew meant over an hour to wait for the pizza, maybe an hour and a half. So I went back to the car. On my way home, I thought how funny it was that 6 people in line here makes me give up on the whole thing, whereas in the city – say, at Swan Oyster Depot – I would be thrilled to find only 6 or 8 people in front of me. I would feel like I won the lottery. It’s all relative, I guess.

*That sounded kind of bad, didn’t it?

A YEAR AGO: Some updates. And not feeling too festive.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A lovely dinner with friends.

TEN YEARS AGO: A lack of enthusiasm for library book annotations.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Feeling a little under the weather.

As soon as the power came back on, I ran around hiding all the signs that it was ever out, madly washing dishes and putting away the lanterns. More than a week after the whole thing ended, I am still recovering from it emotionally. It’s not at all like losing power because of a storm, which is nature and an expected part of each winter. Having it wrested away from you for an extended period of time because of greed and negligence and having absolutely no recourse is not. And it’s super upsetting.

So it was in a state of emotional fragility that I woke up last Saturday morning and went downstairs to make coffee only to find both of the kitchen sinks full of raw sewage. Yes, the power was back on, but the septic system was on strike.

I let my landlord Danielle know, and while I was waiting for her arrival, discovered that the seepage was also in the closet where the washer and dryer are. I pulled everything out of there, and Danielle arrived with cloths to sop up the closet, along with a very long snake and an industrial Shop Vac to deal with the septic situation. Her son Alex, who lives in the house next to me, joined her on this mucky and unpleasant operation. They were both remarkably cheerful about it.

It took a while to deal with it, and Danielle told me that the issue is that the septic was put in many years ago, and now the redwood roots are beginning to encroach on it. Eventually it will need an overhaul, but hopefully not in the immediate future.

Once everything was done, Danielle scattered a lot of wood ash outside and I started bleaching and cleaning inside. I was very thankful that there were no dishes in or even near the sink. Everything was thoroughly cleaned and scrubbed. By that time, I was both hungry and disinclined to cook anything, so I jumped in the car and headed for Queenie’s, where I had a wonderful grilled Reuben sandwich on rye bread made just for Queenie’s. It was everything a Reuben should be.

The clocks went back an hour that night, just adding to the weekend’s weirdness. And making my sister, who had the bad luck to be working that night, have to work an extra hour.

A YEAR AGO: The state was burning up. It was scary.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The horror of looking for a job.

TEN YEARS AGO: My deer neighbor.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Viva Las Vegas!

Hi! I’m back! You may have heard about a little something they’re calling the Public Safety Power Shut Off (PSPS), which was inflicted on the unsuspecting residents of our huge, underpopulated and underfunded County by Their Satanic Majesties, Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E).

Now that you’re up on your California-related acronyms, let’s talk power outage, or outrage, as the local message boards quite appropriately call it.

Out of the literally clear blue sky, PG&E decided that they would cut off the power to millions of people with very little notice or time to prepare. Nor did they deign to tell people which counties or cities would be affected. They did not update their online maps or website (which crashed anyway), or realize that having a website be your prime source of alleged information when there is no power or internet is ridiculous.

Also ridiculous is my landlord receiving a call THREE DAYS after the power went out telling her that there “might” be an outage.

We had no idea how long it would last as it dragged on day after dark, cold day. I had no heat – and the temperature was below freezing on some of the days – and no light on these short days. I was so tired of the cold and dark. I went over to the family estate to shower, recharge my laptop and phone, and use the internet in a vain attempt to find out if or when the outage would ever end. My siblings are wise enough to live off the grid and rely on sun power and their own ingenuity.

Supposedly, the power was shut off because of high winds creating fire risk, but there wasn’t a breath of wind on the Coast and we were nowhere near the places that did have high winds. So there was no reason to do this to us. And the fires that did occur were once again caused by PG&E, just like the ones last year and the year before. They chose to give their shareholders $4.5 billion (yes, that’s “billion”, with a “b”) instead of maintaining equipment, cutting back brush, and burying power lines as they were supposed to do.

Basically, they chose to spend money on executive salaries and bonuses instead of maintaining their equipment and keeping the public safe. They cost the homes and lives of people who lost everything in the fires PG&E caused. Again. They cost us on the Coast thousands of dollars in lost wages, food that rotted in refrigerators, businesses that didn’t have a generator and couldn’t stay open. My cell phone doesn’t work at my house and the landline didn’t work as it usually does in a power outage, so I had no way to communicate with the outside world. If I needed to call 911, I was out of luck.

One of the therapists at the clinic where I work told me that knowledge being withheld and the knowledge that information is being withheld is very traumatic for human beings. And I can honestly say that it is. I was relieved to hear that it wasn’t just me who was traumatized by the ordeal of five days without power.

I still can’t believe it happened. And I think we are all still recovering from it in many ways. Something has to change.

A YEAR AGO: There was power. And family dinner.

FIVE YEARS AGO: There was power. And the Giants were world champions!

TEN YEARS AGO: There was power. Rob Suzy proofed the house after I fell off the sleeping loft. Thank you, Rob!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: The power was on. And I was a bad hostess.

Today marks a decade since I moved to Hooterville! Can you believe it? So much has happened since the day my brothers drove the truck full of my things and stuff up the highway and the curving roads while I followed with a howling and indignant Audrey. It was a long drive.

It was a big adjustment, going from city life to country life, and it was hard at first. But now I wouldn’t move back to San Francisco, even if I were the zillionaire such a move would require. I love living in the woods, with the loudest sound the wind in the trees and bird songs. And the San Francisco I knew and loved is gone.

A lot has changed in the past ten years. I lost no fewer than three beloved cats: the exquisite June (Audrey’s sister); ancient, scrappy little Henry Etta, who I brought with me from Oakhampton; and the irreplaceable Roscoe (Clyde’s brother). It’s no coincidence that my current feline line up of Audrey, Clyde, and Dodge are not allowed outside. That’s where the monsters are, and I am avoiding them like the plague they are.

During the time I have been here, my sister lost her beloved Schatzi, our last link to our mother, and her sweet cat Ramona. She still has Ramona’s sister, the beautiful Harriet, going strong at 18 years old. Along the way, we trekked to Colusa to rescue her dog Star, whom Megan ending up adopting, who was later joined by the inimitable Stella. Star is always so happy to see me that I am secretly convinced that she remembers I was there with Megan on the day she was saved and her perfect life began.

My sister moved away from the property we both lived on to the one where our brother lives. Things were never quite the same. My former landlord moved away without letting me know, and I moved a few months later. I love my new, beautiful, and let’s face it, improved house, but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for my quirky old place, despite all its eccentricities, even though I am much happier at the new place. It still seems like a dream after five months of living there.

My brother adopted his adorable and fierce mini cat, Scout, and fell in love with his lovely girlfriend Rio. He is happier with her than I have ever seen him. And she makes up for our lack of reproducing by having four adult kids and three small grandchildren.

Wells were dug at the family estate, and an epic garden and orchard, now an acre in size, were built and fenced (and then electrified to bear proof it) on the inhospitable pygmy soil. It is now a thing of beauty and a wonder to behold.

Erica and Jessica moved away following a family tragedy, and I miss them every day. The good news is that they are in the process of moving a little closer, to Portland, so I’m hoping to see them at least once a year. I miss them.

I finally got divorced after a long separation. I believe that now John and I have been apart longer than we were married. But he still means a great deal to me and I will always love him. We are in touch nearly every day. I am trying to support him as best I can through cancer treatments for one of his beloved cats. And if he called me at 2 am and needed bail, help burying a body, or a ride somewhere I’d grab my keys and be out the door. I don’t consider our relationship to be a failure.

I got a new (to me) car, which carries me to the Big Town nearly every day. I estimate I drive 250 miles a week, just to work and back. I also have a less new job, of nearly five years’ standing, which I acquired when the business my partner and I built and poured all our time, dedication, and money into disappeared, taking my livelihood and career with it. It was hard to recover from that devastation, and in some ways I am still working on it, but I am grateful I found this job when I needed it. Before the job, I had the jobette, which is sadly long gone now, but the friendships I made there remain.

I wonder what the next ten years will bring? Whatever it is, it will be unexpected. Some of it will be great, some of it will be horrible, and through it all, I will have my family and my friends.

A YEAR AGO: A sleepover with Jessica.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My fifth anniversary in beautiful Hooterville.

TEN YEARS AGO: I think you know.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Getting a call from the dry cleaner. Now I live where there is no dry cleaner.

It might surprise you that a girl who is as much of a sparkly princess as I am doesn’t live in a Jayne Mansfield style glory of pink and glitter. My décor is actually quite neutral. I mentioned to my long-time friend A, whose hobbies include interior design and restaurant reviewing, that the cats* were taking their toll on the beige linen upholstery on the living room chair, and she suggested that I switch out both the couch and the chair for blush velvet ones. She says blush velvet can read as neutral with the right accessories and would provide a welcome note of luxe in my country abode. Also that cats do not enjoy clawing velvet.

A did a lot of research on couches and chairs, and we narrowed down her selection to the dream couch and chair, but they will have to remain a dream for the moment, since I recently made a major investment in car repairs and have no budget for furniture or other frivolities at the moment.

So while I wait for my ever-tenuous finances to recover – if they do – I have been adding new cushions to the couch, which will be compatible with pink velvet if it ever occurs. A gave me the beautiful vintage hand-made suzani which is draped over the back of the couch, and also the hand-embroidered turquoise cushion on the left. I added the white, purple and pink embroidered cushion on the right. Allergy sufferers, beware: all the pillows in my house are feather.

My plan was to replace the dark, beaded pillows on the ends. I still like them, but they don’t work so well with the new color scheme. I’m planning to see if Megan wants them, since she has no couch cushions and a nice, dark leather couch.

I consulted with A and we chose a pretty cushion on line, thinking that if I liked it enough, I’d get another one to match it. I ordered it two weeks ago and it has yet to arrive. The tracking number said it had arrived last Monday. I checked my post office box on Tuesday on my way to work. I picked up a box, which upon opening, revealed itself to be full of little bottles**, which I had not ordered. A look at the mailing label revealed that it was addressed to my brother, who has a PO box he shares with our sister. Megan checked their PO box in case my package was delivered there instead. Nope.

I checked with the shipper, who told me to wait a couple of days in case it turned up. I did and it didn’t. I contacted them again and they traced the package. Apparently, it was delivered to my old street address. Note that this does not mean it went to my old house. Deliveries to the old address went to a sort of decaying shed at the front of the property. Sometimes, they went to the front door of the rarely occupied front house. I am guessing this is what happened on this occasion. Fed Ex told me that the driver went to see what happened to the package and whoever is currently living in the front house kept screaming at him that she was not me and he should get out of there, which he eventually did. I’m guessing the screamer kept the cushion.

Fed Ex said it was their fault for not verifying my address. I pointed out that the shipper should not have allowed me to enter a PO box address if they were planning to ship by Fed Ex. Fed Ex also said that I might be surprised by the amount of fraud that goes on around missing packages. She gave an example of someone who said she never received her treadmill. When Fed Ex said they would have to send the sheriff around to investigate, she “found” it in her garage.

Anyway, it’s been a lot of fuss for a $20 cushion and I hope I love it if/when it ever gets here.

*To be fair, none of them goes outside anymore. But even when they did, they tended to claw indoor items or the house itself rather than the giant outdoor scratching posts, which you and I refer to as “trees” or “the woods”.

**For home-made hot sauce, made from the peppers they grew this summer.

A YEAR AGO: A wonderful sleepover with the wonderful Jessica!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful evening with Megan and Lu.

TEN YEARS AGO: Getting ready to leave Oakhampton. And not a moment too soon.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A few updates.

Spraying the garbage cans with ammonia and water seems to have deterred Mr. (or Ms.) Bear, at least so far. Either I am no longer on the regular buffet route, or he or she has started hibernating, if in fact they do hibernate here. I have no idea if they do or what causes it if so, since we don’t get snow* and don’t even get a dramatic enough temperature change to change the leaves in most cases. Maybe it is daylight (or lack of it), though. I have had a few days where it’s been dark when I went to work and dark when I went home. Winter’s here!

I am pleased to report that I managed to avoid being “de-energized”, as our frenemies at PG&E call it. The lights stayed on at work and at home, and the threat of being powerless made me revisit my power outage capabilities at home, making sure I have water and lanterns. I was concerned that I would not be able to use my stove, since it uses electricity to ignite, but a friend told me that I could use a match. He suggested a long one, I will try it out before it becomes a total necessity. At least, that’s my intention. Hopefully the threat of not being able to have coffee or cook will motivate me to actually do it.

It also made me fill up my car sooner than my designated day of Friday, even though the gas tank was close to half full. It was soon overflowing. I usually set the pump to fill and then go and put my wallet away in the car, and this time, when I turned around, gas was spurting out of the side of my car at an alarming rate. I hastily yanked out the spout and replaced it, trying to avoid dousing myself and walking in the spilled gas any more than was strictly necessary.

I went and told the gas station cashier and she put a red “out of order” sleeve on the spout and said she’d clean up the spilled gas. I washed off the side of the car and the bottoms of my shoes with the windshield wiper squeegee thoughtfully provided, but I was sure my car smelled like gas and wondered if I had gotten it on my clothes, too. I’m pretty sure some of the $41 I spent on gas was for spillage, not Wednesday.

After work, I went to pick up many barbecued pork dinners at the high school. It was a fundraiser for the school’s agriculture program, and young men don’t cook dinner for me as often as I’d like. I picked up dinner for myself, my sister, and my boss and her husband, retracing my steps to deliver the dinners to the ER to await my sister’s arrival and to my boss to take home if/when she ever left work that evening. On the way home, I wondered if my car smelled more like barbecue or gasoline.

*What, never? No, never! What, Never? Hardly ever!

A YEAR AGO: Pearls and cocktails. What could be Suzier than that?

FIVE YEARS AGO: Sick and tired.

TEN YEARS AGO: Polished.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Eeek! A mouse!

I’m still not exactly sure how I became the President of the library board. It’s strange for an impostor like me to run meetings and sign official documents, even though I sign all the checks at work. When Megan was living with me* while she was in high school, I went to all her parent-teacher interviews as her “parent”, and every time I went, I half expected them to tell me that I had to go back to high school since I wasn’t a real grown-up**.

There are more events than I expected when I joined the library board, and it can be hard to fit them into my long and busy work days, but as President, I feel I have to go. Recently, a thank you dinner for library volunteers was held at the beautiful Guest House Museum in the heart of the Big Town. I love it that this lovely home, built in 1892, is still the tallest building in town:

I was less than delighted to learn that I was expected to make a speech at the volunteer thank you dinner. Other than speaking at my father’s funeral nearly 20 years ago, I don’t remember having to speak in public. I could happily have gone another twenty years to forever without doing so. Here’s what I said:

It’s been an eventful year for the Friends of the Fort Bragg Library. We have started to make some real progress in dismantling the Whipple Street house, a meaningful step toward the future of expanding our library. Thank you to Daniel Z— for providing invaluable technical advice and support as we move forward with this project.

Thanks to Sandra F—’s wonderful “Thousand Dollar Club” idea and advocacy, funds continue to roll in towards making the dream of a bigger and better library come true. Fundraising events have been very successful this year, thanks to our dedicated volunteers, some new and some of many years’ standing. Thank you to all of you who contribute your time, your ideas, your perspiration, and your inspiration to helping your local library and community. We couldn’t do it without you. Here’s to you!

It went pretty well, though, judging by the applause. I don’t think public speaking is going to become a favorite hobby or anything. But I am proud of the work we are doing at the library and how much it means to our little community.

*I never really thought about how weird this situation was until a couple of years ago. Looking back, I can’t believe that a 23 year old was expected to parent a 14 year old. It all worked out in the end, though.

**Someone recently pointed out to me that actual grown ups do not refer to themselves or others of their ilk as “grown ups”. They use the term “adult”. Apparently, my use of the term “grown up” is just one of the many signs that I am not one.

A YEAR AGO: Some things were better. And some weren’t.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A trip to the south coast. And an unexpected cow.

TEN YEARS AGO: An impending job interview. Bonus: Baby Jessica!! Oh, the cuteosity!

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Eeek! A mouse!

My siblings have had a trying summer with wildlife invaders in the garden. First, there was a fox who ate all the strawberries – and there are a LOT of strawberries, so he was an overachiever in this area – and who successfully eluded the Hav-A-Hart trap for some time before eventually being caught. He expressed his disapproval of this entrapment by hissing and snarling in the trap. Rob found a nice new neighborhood for him, several miles away, with both food and water nearby.

However, as so often happens with wildlife, whether they are in your house or outside it, there was Not Just One. My siblings soon became experts at trapping and relocating foxes, as a total of four went into the Fox Relocation Program with their assistance.

As if that weren’t enough, a bear somehow got in. I don’t know if you have ever had a bear in your garden, but they tend to be messy and destructive. When I lived at the old house, my then neighbor across the Ridge had a bear sit in her apple tree and eat all the fruit while merrily breaking the branches of her century old tree. Once they know there’s food somewhere, they tend to make more repeat appearances than Barbra Streisand on a farewell tour.

It was decided that the fence enclosing the garden should be electrified, like the fence around the beehives. But the beehive fence is much more modest than the garden fence, which encircles an entire acre. Not for the first time, my siblings must have wondered why they made the garden so damn big. I know the thought has crossed my lazy mind. It seems to me like they are either watering and weeding or canning and preserving on an epic scale. I guess they just think bigger than I do.

Electrifying the fence was further complicated by the fact that all the brush and bushes anywhere near the fence had to be removed to minimize fire risk. So the boys were pretty busy for a while, removing vegetation and bear proofing the fence. When it is turned on at night, it ticks and apparently you get a quite shocking shock if you are silly enough to touch it. You will not be surprised to hear that the bear has been pretty scarce ever since.

He may have moved over to my house, though this is probably unlikely since I now live about 11 miles away (though still in Hooterville) instead of a quarter mile away. Yet a bear has definitely been visiting Chez Suzy.

I first became aware of his visits when I discovered that one of the garbage cans was knocked over and had deep and alarming claw and bite marks around the rim of the can and the lid. Also there was garbage everywhere. On later visits, he seemed to drag the entire bag into the meadow/orchard area next to the house to go through it at his leisure. There wasn’t really any food in it. Vegetable and fruit trimmings go into the compost pit, and I am pretty sure they are removed by the foxes and ravens. Also the bear seems to be ignoring my apple trees as far as I can see.

Apparently, you are supposed to keep your garbage cans in your shed or garage. Unfortunately, I have neither – I don’t even have a shed to store motor oil and things of that nature. I realize that while putting up with the endless barking at my old house was annoying, it also kept the wildlife at bay. I never had bear problems there.

I have to admit that I am rather nervous getting to the car in the morning, especially since it’s now totally dark when I leave in the mornings, and although I have the porch light on and use my phone’s flashlight to get to the car, I am always worried that there is a monster in the darkness. One of my coworkers told me that bears can open doors, so I have actually started locking them, even though I can’t imagine a bear actually strolling into my living room. Or can I?

Consulting with those better versed in the ways of wildlife than I am, I learned that bears have a very sensitive sense of smell, and spraying the garbage cans and even the bags with ammonia or Windex should deter them. I have tried that, and so far, Mr. Bear has not been back to visit. Yet. Stay tuned.

A YEAR AGO: The beginning of the end. Though I didn’t know it at the time.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The actual end.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Feeling the sloth. And the cold.

Or unhappy Wednesday, as the case may be…

One day as I was driving home from work, I noticed that Wednesday was making an alarming creaking sound. I got more alarmed the creakier it got. I called my brother and he said to drive her on over that weekend for him to take a look (or listen). He thought it might be the bushings (whatever they are), and suggested that I take Wednesday to the place I buy tires to get a front end and brake inspection. He also thought I needed new tires, and while I might be able to get away with only getting two new ones, it was probably better to get all four.

Unfortunately for me and my ever-tenuous resources, my tires were considered “marginal” by the tire experts. My brother was correct about the bushings (whatever they are), since they were “torn and broken”. Besides having no idea what they are, I have no idea how I tore and broke them, which sounds pretty violent and also memorable. Oh, and I had 10% left on my rear brakes. At least I still had 85% on the front ones, which do most of the work.

I was presented with a truly alarming estimate for the work needed to correct all these mysterious problems, as well as all four tires. I gave it to my brother, hoping he and Rob could do the work. I had a hard time reaching him, and in the meantime was driving around on my marginal tires with my 10% rear brakes, which was almost as alarming as the estimate for fixing them. Eventually my brother and I caught up with each other, and basically he said he would not have time to do the work in the foreseeable future.

So I went back to the tire place and signed over my paycheck to them in return for all this, as well as an alignment and maybe some other stuff. The last time I bought tires was in April of 2017, and considering the state of the rough country roads I drive on and the fact that I drive about 250 miles a week just to work and back, it’s probably about as much as I could expect to get from the tires. I am careful about checking the tire pressure and getting them rotated in the hopes of making them last as long as possible. At least I can be confident that I can stop the car, which, as my brother says, is the most important thing a car can do. And I have new tires before the rain starts up again.