Suzy Says

Driving down the Ridge one morning this week, I saw a young deer dash across the road. It looked like the car may have hit the deer. I stopped, thinking of the “Never Just One” theory, and although another deer didn’t appear, a dog did. He went to investigate in the bushes where the deer was last seen. I joined him, and could find no sign of the deer, so the car must just have clipped the little guy. At least he wasn’t too injured to run away. The driver, who had parked his car on the road too, was very relieved to hear that the deer was in running condition. It was funny, though, because he himself looked more like the kind of guy who would hunt a deer rather than worry about one, wearing a trucker’s hat and plaid shirt.

We both got back in our cars and went on our deerless ways, but I couldn’t help thinking about the deer and how afraid I am of hitting one, or a cyclist, and how much likelier this scenario would be as the mornings and evenings got darker earlier. With the long hours I’m working these days, I’m kind of dreading the darkness driving as fall and winter approach.

A YEAR AGO: Apparently I am never too injured to shop. Or have a spa day.

I had my filling replaced last week. It was about as unpleasant as you’d expect, though the old silver (really more grey or black looking) filling has been replaced by an almost invisible tooth colored one. With all the strides in medical and dental technology, you’d think they would have found a way to decrease or do away with the high pitched noises and make-up destroying water sprays, but apparently not. I still kind of wish they could just knock you out, like they do for dogs undergoing any kind of dental procedure*. Ignorance (or least unconsciousness) can be bliss.

At least the freezing wore off in time for me to join some friends for a glass or two of local wine at a soiree at a historic inn, which just happens to be on my way home. Of course, it also happened to be the only day this week that I wasn’t marooned behind several slow-moving cars, so I was almost regretful as I turned off the beautifully empty highway.

The regret wore off as I was warmly greeted by my friends, who were standing near the Audubon-certified golf course. It’s nice to know that something as man-made and man-centric as a golf course can still be respectful of the wildlife in the area. And there can’t be too many ocean-view golf courses. The Inn itself hosted James Dean when he was here filming “East of Eden” and horrifying the current inn owner’s grandfather with his shocking language, t-shirts, and putting his booted feet on the bar.

*We also keep people alive way longer and in more horrible circumstances than we do our pets. Not sure exactly what to make of this.

A YEAR AGO: A door to door tree delivery. Yes, you read that right. A tree.

The year has tipped over into dark mornings already. The boys wait impatiently for 6:15 or even 6:30 am, whenever their Staff considers it light enough to open the doors – Miss Audrey, of course, is exempt from any and every rule – and scamper off into the early morning, looking for trouble to get into.

And the year has tipped over from constant weeding and watering in the garden on the family property to preserving and canning. I wonder if every year my sibs think they have overdone the planting once they start with the weeding and the canning. Even if they do, it never seems to stop them.

Last weekend, they made relish from the tons of cucumbers, as well as onions and garlic they grew. And they made jam from the relentlessly productive strawberries. They just keep putting out more and more fruit. I stopped by on my way home after work that day to find my hard-working sibs enjoying adult beverages after a long, hot day of canning.

Speaking of finding: Rob had found a canopy at the dump mall, which needed some repairs but was, as Jacques Pepin would say, perfectly fine. It kept the sun off as they labored over the outdoor propane burners and pressure cooker. I love it that Rob is always finding things he can fix at the mall.

It was nice to sit under the canopy with my family and talk about the present (canning), the past (summers in Maine), and the future (Jonathan’s upcoming 50th birthday). I reminded myself that I should take more time to be with them, though it’s hard when you work six days a week. Still, I’m always glad when I do it.

Finally arriving home, I discovered a pot of home-made blackberry jam on my kitchen table:

Citlali had stopped by and left it as thanks for borrowing milk and eggs over the past week or so. I feel so lucky to have such great neighbors and friends. And it’s fun to never know what you might find when you come home. Maybe a Bowflex! Maybe some jam! Maybe a bunny! Who knows?

A YEAR AGO: Ah, the vagaries of country interwebs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOMyS78o5YI

I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I’ll make you so sure about it
God only knows what I’d be without you
If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me
God only knows what I’d be without you

A YEAR AGO: Thirteen years since we lost Dad and our lives changed forever.

I started the week with losing a piece of a filling. One minute, I’m eating an apple at my desk, and the next, there’s a little black thing in my hand and what feels like a giant hole in my tooth.

Uh oh.

I immediately headed over to the dental department, which is conveniently located near my office, thinking that if you have to lose a filling, doing it just feet away from dentists is an excellent choice. Sadly for me (though happily for the clinic), they were booked solid the rest of the week.

So I called my regular dentist, and he was able to fit me in the next day. Fortunately, the hole in my head didn’t hurt, though visions of the million dollar crown that ensued the last time I lost a filling danced in my perforated head. I thought: it can’t be as bad as losing an entire filling and needing a crown right before A) a holiday weekend; and 2) having to fly across the country to testify in front of the Grand Jury. Can it?

It wasn’t. The dentist put in a temporary filling and scheduled me in for a real one later this month. I was delighted to learn that it was only $50 for this session and it will be a mere $34 for the next one, which I think we can all agree is a vast improvement over the $950 the crown cost. I hope from now on that the only crowns I have to deal with are in tiara form, and on my head, not in it. Princess Suzy has such a (diamond) ring to it, doesn’t it?

A YEAR AGO: Home improvements, Rob style.

I came home from a long day at work (is there any other kind?) to find that the Bowflex fairy had stopped by my house:

The BF had thoughtfully adorned the machine with a sparkly purple bow, so you know who it was: Erica, who knows my love of all things sparkly. I was delighted by its arrival and sorry that I had missed the Dynamic Duo and their fabulousness. They were unable to attend Kalli’s annual birthday party in July, so it’s been far too long since I have seen them. I must remedy this soon. Look how gorgeous they are:

Erica also provided a manual, so Megan and I are going to help each other figure it out. We can Bowflex on Sundays, which will change things up from my working week routine of using the treadmill while watching “Bewitched” with Mark’s dog Lupe:

Everyone needs a workout buddy.

A YEAR AGO: Back home from a trip to the City.

I’m not sure if the overcast skies over the last few days are because of fog or the wildfires raging in the next county:

The last I heard, there were 50,000 acres burning. Highways, including the one I took to Reno a couple of years ago, are closed, and thousands have been evacuated. It reminded me of the terrible wildfires my brother fought so bravely and so long a few years back, when the smoke veiled the Bay Area hundreds of miles away.

Megan is working as a medic at the Reggae on the River festival up in Piercy with our dear friends Lu and Rik, and there are wildfires there as well. She texted me that there had been hundreds of dry lightning strikes, which is what caused the massive fires here years ago. The drought has made every Californian’s dread of fire that much worse, and our wonderful Governor, Jerry Brown, has had to declare a state of emergency in the Golden State.

I hope the firefighters stay safe and that containment comes soon.

A YEAR AGO: A trip to Oakland.

Megan stopped by my house, saying, “Rob sent you a bunny,” which is not something you hear every day. I came downstairs to find a wonderful ceramic rabbit made in 1955 (the date is etched on the base):

He got it for $2 at a thrift store, knowing that it would both delight me and look perfect with the kitschy vintage animal planters on my balcony, and so it does:

Rob and I share a certain aesthetic appreciation. 🙂

I didn’t plan it, but somehow I ended up with all these cute old planters up there:

The top one is a little squirrel in a log, and underneath is another log with a saw, perfect for this area where logging is one of the biggest (legal) industries.

Here’s a look at the rest of the balcony:

It’s the perfect place to read and drink wine.

In addition to the rabbit, Megan also brought a plant called an anthurium. Lu bought it for my office, and said the heart-shaped flowers are to remind me that I’m loved. I wasted no time in bringing it to work, where it looks perfect with my filing cabinet garden:

I bought the sea urchin planter when Megan and I took that Saturday off together a couple of weeks ago. I love it! I brought the old vase on the right from home. I like my office garden. I have a real garden outside my window, where the courtyard is beautifully landscaped and Fred the hummingbird visits me every day.

A YEAR AGO: Things were pretty much the same, with me working all the time and Megan at Reggae on the River.

Oh, future dishes – I think I love you least of all.

The last time I got paid, I made the unpleasant discovery that I was overdrawn by $39. This made me realize two things: 1) Clearly, I shouldn’t have recklessly squandered $44 on gas that day; and B) I should get a summer job.

So I’m working at the jobette on Saturdays through Labor Day. Compared to the hours I work during the week (about 50), it seems like nothing to just do 6 hours. And it’s fun. I love talking to the visitors – last week, a young couple from Berkeley who are getting married here in the fall came in for visitor guides and maps to give their friends attending the wedding. I am always sentimental about brides, even though I don’t really believe in marriage, at least not for me. Go figure.

I also like feeling that I’m helping out my former colleagues, who often pop in to say hello while I’m there. It’s nice to know that I’ve left the place tidy and ready for them to start their work week on Monday.

But that only gives me one day off, and you know what that means. Chores and work preparations have to be packed in during the week somehow. So far, I have coped with this by putting out my work clothes for the next week on Wednesday or Thursday of the current week. I throw in a load of laundry when I get home from work. After work on Fridays, I invest a couple of hours making my lunches and dinners for the following week. This task is made much more pleasant by a glass or three of wine, which as Jacques Pepin so rightly said, inspires the cook.

The downside of this future food though is the present dishes, as you see above. That’s what it looked like when last Friday’s culinary marathon was complete. I left the dishes until Saturday morning. I don’t have to leave for the jobette until after 9 am, so I can sleep in until it’s light outside and still have time to get the house tidied up before I go.

Needless to say, Sundays are completely dedicated to sloth and hanging out with the kitties!

A YEAR AGO: File under Miscellaneous.

Kalli’s birthday camping party has become an annual tradition, and a delightful one, too.

Kalli, Jarrett, and an entourage of their many friends convened at the family property on a recent Saturday. Megan and I were a little concerned about the head count of 30 or more, but we needn’t have worried. They arrived with a keg of beer and coolers full of food. Jonathan made 10 pounds of pulled pork, and I made a more modest quantity of chicken filling for the evening’s taco dinner.

We were lucky to have any chicken filling at all. I got up early on Saturday, did a few loads of laundry, and set the chicken to cook in the slow cooker. A couple of hours later, I went to check on it and discovered that it was ice cold. As in, the chicken was still frozen. I tried unplugging the slow cooker and plugging it back in again – pretty much the limits of my expertise with any form of technology – and it still didn’t work.

I took the whole thing, chicken and all, over my brother’s place. We put the chicken into our friend Lu’s crockpot, which she had lent to him a couple of weeks earlier, and I took it back to my place while Jonathan dismantled mine. Spoiler alert: the heating element had met an untimely demise, taking the rest of the slow cooker with it. So much for that. The good news is that I managed to get the chicken filling done on time.

Meanwhile, tents were merrily growing in the garden:

And the tents’ occupants were playing beer pong. They soon discovered that the drinking part of the game didn’t work so well in the pygmy puff dust, so it became more of a game of skill while drinking the beer in your hand.

We had some visiting dogs, including a darling little spotted brother and sister rescued from under a house a couple of months earlier. Lucky, the sister, was a little unsure about all the unknown people and found a safe spot:

I’m not usually one for small dogs, but they were so cute and really warmed up to the attention as the party went on. Another of Jarrett’s friends had recently traded in a problematic girlfriend for the adorable Atticus:

Definitely an upgrade.

Kalli thoughtfully provided Party Survival Kits:

These included provisions like Band-Aids, sunscreen, a toothbrush, condoms, gum, disinfectant wipes, and other things you might need when camping in the middle of nowhere with some of your best friends.

We had a great BBQ despite the near kitchen emergency, and in the morning Jarrett made bacon, eggs, and home fries on the outdoor gas stove (if you can call it that – it’s two rings hooked up to a small tank of propane, last seen in Erica’s al fresco samosa frying at Junapalooza). Then the visitors set off home, with more happy memories and plans for next year.

A YEAR AGO: The joys of faux pho. And the sadness of memory.

Above you see a rare photo of the Mysterious Mr. Roscoe in his native habitat. Unlike his little brother Clyde (I think of Roscoe as being the big brother even though they are litter mates and the exact same age), Roscoe tends to go out and stay out all day, unless the weather isn’t up to his high standards. You know how native Californians are.

So I often don’t see him when I’m home, which makes it all the more surprising that I was an observer of his superhero antics yesterday. He came around the corner into the kitchen, leapt gracefully onto the kitchen counter, snatched a mouse from behind (or possibly on top of) the microwave, and then jumped onto the floor, mouse in mouth, and vanished into the woods.

All this happened much faster than the time it took me to write it or you to read it, and there was no time for me to intervene in the mouse’s interests (sorry, mouse!). The casualness and the athleticism were equally impressive.

Makes me wonder what else I miss when I’m not home.

Last Friday, I left work early, went home, and lured all the kitties into the house with treats and dinner. Then I turned lights on inside and out* and headed for the beautiful South Coast.

Even though it was an overcast day and the Pacific was living up to its name with millpond flatness, the South Coast was as beautiful as always. There’s something magical about it to me, though I can’t explain why. It seems wilder somehow and the drive prettier than the northbound one I do nearly every day. Maybe it’s because I don’t drive it as often that it seems more special.

I headed to Anchor Bay for delicious Thai food. I was pleased to note that the restaurant was full at the Floridian hour of 5:30. I ordered sparkling fresh spring rolls, which arrived with a sweet, yet spicy dipping sauce, and an order of Panang curry, which is scented with kaffir lime leaves, Thai basil, and peanut sauce. There was enough left for me to take home with me for dinner another night.

Wednesday and I turned around and went back the way we came. After a couple of curvy miles, I heard a fire engine screaming, and I began to look for places to pull over, not an easy task on narrow and winding Highway One. Eventually, I located someone’s driveway and cowered by the mailbox as the fire truck raced by.

The fire truck may have raced by, but traffic soon ground to a halt, reminding me of the mysterious episode on the Ridge the afternoon before (I still don’t know what happened, and no-one else does, either). I began to worry that I would miss the movie in Point Arena as I turned the car off, though I tried to comfort myself that there would be endless, horrible ads** before the movie.

After several minutes, cars started to move again, and I came across the cause of the pause. A truck had blasted into a fence on the southbound side of the road (though facing north), and a car had smashed into the hill on the other side of the road, also facing north. It was completely crumpled. Things seem to have been a lot more eventful on the roads lately than usual in our little corner of the world.

I made it to the lovely theater in time for Love & Mercy, a new film about the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson. Brian has had a fascinating and sometimes tragic life, and the film chose to focus on two different facets of it: when the Beach Boys were tremendously successful but Brian wanted to try new things musically, and later, when he had a nervous breakdown and fell into the thrall of the evil Eugene Landy, who overmedicated him and cut him off from his family. Brian was played by Paul Dano in his young incarnation and John Cusack in the older one, and both actors did a fine job, though Cusack looks nothing like Wilson. It’s flawed, but worth looking for if you can find it – the film has not been widely released, despite buzz for Dano as a possible Oscar candidate.

I’m pleased to report that the drive home was uneventful. I went to sleep with Wilson’s divine harmonies dancing in my head and the cats cuddled up beside me.

*Sorry, ecology! But it was after 10 pm and totally dark by the time I got home, summer or no summer.

**How right I was. There was a lengthy and embarrassing ad for a new Meryl Streep movie, and another for some animated movie which was so bad that it ruined “More Than a Feeling” for me, the song blasting in the background during the visual torture of the trailer. And I love that song!

A YEAR AGO: Kalli’s birthday camping party was in full swing.

I was both surprised and delighted by the gentle rain that started falling in the early afternoon on Thursday. It was still raining when I drove home, and I made a point of driving more slowly than usual, remembering that the first rain after a long drought makes the roads extra slippery. And they are already extra curvy. The summer tourist traffic helped in this effort, and I reminded myself to be thankful that the visitors kept me driving below the speed limit.

Traffic slowed dramatically as I approached the sharp curve leading to a state beach, and I thought that perhaps the time had finally come that I could take a picture of my favorite view on the coast, even though it would be in the rain. But I couldn’t get my phone out in time, and soon learned that the cause of the slowdown was a car accident. Two cars heading in opposite directions had ended up in the southbound lane (the side I was on). It must have happened recently, since there were no flares or emergency services on scene. We just drove carefully around the crashed cars.

I thought the excitement was over, but I was wrong. Along about my friend Jim’s road, traffic on the Ridge was crawling along as far as my eye could see:

I passed a blue PG&E truck at the next road, which made me worry that the power was out. I texted Megan, but she was in the Big Town hanging out with Lu, so she had no idea what was going on in Hooterville. As I crept along the Ridge at less than 5 miles an hour, I wondered if I would be able to get home at all, or if I’d have to turn around and head over to my friend Erin’s place again, especially when traffic ground to a halt.

Just as I was about to turn the car off, it started inching along again. Arriving at the road where our friend lives whose skills and heavy machinery made the garden at the family property possible, I saw two Highway Patrol trucks, and let a third one turn off to join them. They all had their lights flashing, but I couldn’t see any crashed or stopped cars, or any sign of anything other than the CHP trucks themselves.

For some mysterious reason, traffic eased up after that, and the rest of the way home was uneventful. The power was on, the garden and its resident frogs were overjoyed about the rain, and the cats were napping. All was right with the world.

A YEAR AGO: Of cats and carpentry.

For those of you who deciphered the mysterious runes above and are wondering what the piano reference is all about: When Jessica was very young, she visited a friend who had a piano at her house. Jessica was enchanted, and when she got home, asked her mother to make her one. Erica said that she couldn’t make a piano. Jessica was stunned. This was the first time in her life she had asked her mother to make something and she couldn’t. As far as I know, a piano is still just about the only thing Erica can’t make.

A YEAR AGO: Farewell, electric lime green bathroom floor! I think I’ll miss you least of all.

A red and white striped tent appeared in the park in the Village, and that could only mean one thing: Flynn Creek Circus was in town!

They are a small, local circus which has begun to tour internationally and garner the acclaim they deserve for their amazing aerial acts.

Megan and I snapped up tickets for the Fourth of July show. We perched on elaborate cast iron benches which wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Victorian garden party, and prepared to enjoy the show. The circus kicked off with a glamorous girl walking, dancing, and even jumping across the tightrope in heels, making her my personal hero:

Later, she switched to pointe shoes, but the heels amazed me the most. She was followed by “a unicycle built for two”, which was a couple doing acrobatics on a unicycle, including his sweeping her off her feet and onto his shoulders mid-ride, and, incredibly, jumping rope while on a unicycle. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Even more unbelievable was the act that followed. This guy balanced a board on top of a cylinder, and then stood on that, and added another layer of cylinders and board, and then another. And then he stood on his hands on top of it all:

I was completely amazed and enraptured, along with the rest of the audience. The show concluded with two kids doing aerial silks. Megan works with one of the kids’ mother, and apparently this kid is still in high school and is only allowed to do circus work if he keeps his grades up at school. As far as I can see, he is doing great at both. It was impressive to see the skill, focus, and grace of all of the artistes. Once again, I feel so lucky to live in an area with so many talented people who share their art and vision with us all.

Back at Megan’s house, we made a stir fry for dinner. Everything in it, other than the noodles and shrimp, came from the garden over at the family property, and Megan also picked 15 pounds of peas for us to take to work and share with our co-workers. There are still peas left! And the orchard is teeming with ripening fruit: apples, pears, plums, and peaches. It’s summer!

A YEAR AGO: Come along on my drive to the Big Town! It’ll be fun!

Jerry Seinfeld gets his car back from the valet, and something is amiss.

Jerry: Boy, do you smell something?
Elaine: Do I smell something? What am I, hard of smelling? Of course I smell something.
Jerry: What is it?
Elaine: I think it’s B.O.!
Jerry: What?
Elaine: It’s B.O. The valet must have had B.O.
Jerry: It can’t be. Nobody has B.O. like this.
Elaine: Jerry. It’s B.O.
Jerry: But the whole car smells.
Elaine: So?
Jerry: So when somebody has B.O., the “O” usually stays with the “B”. Once the “B” leaves, the “O” goes with it.

— Seinfeld, “The Smelly Car”

I may have solved the Mystery of the Cat at Midnight, without any help from Nancy Drew (though I still envy her blue convertible and general efficiency). It seems that Roscoe may in fact have been amusing himself with a late bird behind the box of my late father’s letters.

Working all the time has not improved my general domestic disability, but the strange smell that made its odoriferous appearance lately was above and beyond my lack of housekeeping skills. I pulled out the couch, but there was only a crop of unscented dust bunnies back there. I virtuously vacuumed them up and replaced the couch. The smell was still there, so I kept hunting. Oh Nancy, where art thou?

My house is small, and basically one room, so the places to look in this game of stink hide and seek were limited. Eventually, I thought to remove the box of letters, revealing a very dead Steller’s Jay. I swept the deceased onto a dustpan and removed it to the woods, but even though the “B” was gone, the “O” remained, and it seemed that the removal made the O worse.

I mopped the entire area under the stairs with Clorox and water, which I had previously believed had omnipotent cleaning powers. But it was powerless against the O. As Jerry said, “This is not just an odor – you need a priest to get rid of this thing! It’s a presence! It’s The Beast!” I borrowed Nature’s Miracle from my sister, thinking that if it gets rid of skunk smell, it can get rid of dead bird smell, but The Beast just laughed at it and turned up the stink. I applied more Clorox and prayed. Rob came by and applied Pine Sol, crawling around under the stairs with a sponge which went straight into the trash, but the cure was temporary. At this point, I have to hope it fades with time, or move. Any cleaning or exorcism tips gratefully accepted.

A YEAR AGO: Birthdays and anniversaries. Unscented.

Megan and I pass each other in our cars most days. One of us is on her way to work, and the other one is on her way home. I always look for her, much as I used to listen for her coming home at night when she lived with me as a teenager, and it always makes me happy to see her and exchange waves. Even in the brief time I see her, I have some idea of how her night shift went. If we meet up closer to town, she left late, and if her windows are open all the way, she’s tired and the cool air is helping to keep her alert on the long drive home.

On Friday, I was delighted by the sight of a fawn so young that she still had her spots. So Bambi! She was in the company of another young deer, and as I waited for them to cross the highway – they had chosen a deeply curved area with a 15 mph speed limit – Megan came around the curve just in time to see them and be delighted in turn. I enjoyed sharing that special moment with her, even in passing, though as she observed later, we both hoped they found a better place to hang out than the highway.

We decided that we had to stop meeting like this, so we took Saturday off from chores and work and everything else, even (gasp!) dog walking, and headed to the Big Town for a plant sale. We brought along treats for the nursery owner’s dog, Rusty, who expects such things from us. Rusty had just had a bath and was super soft and fluffy, as well as super appreciative of the treats.

We enjoyed browsing the real flowers and the faux ones:

If I could afford it, I’d have a grove of these faux ones. No drought guilt, and they are fabulous!

I bought a few plants for home and one for my office, which is slowly undergoing a beautification project. On our way home, we stopped off in the Village, which was packed with visitors. I swear this has been the busiest summer for tourists since I moved here.

Traffic was heavy in the oceanfront bookstore, exhausting Catsby, the bookstore cat, who napped on one of the many cushioned window seats after an overdose of attention:

It was fun to browse, even though cat petting was out of the question, and I even picked up a couple of early stocking stuffers for Jessica which were too cute to resist and made me feel efficient, an unaccustomed, yet delightful emotion.

Arriving back at Megan’s house, we made nachos and watched GirlTV™. It was a lovely end to a lovely day.

A YEAR AGO: Coincidentally, I was at the very same bookstore!

A look at a summer trip to Paris.

Paris, France
Friday, August 23, 1991

Sitting in the open window of my room at the Hôtel des Batignolles, in a part of Paris which is new to me. The room is quite nice for 290 francs a night: a double bed, clean bathroom with pretty grey tiles, and a window looking over a courtyard where children play and neighbors chat. It is not at all touristy.

The hotel is close to Montmartre, and has a post office, corner store, and many cafés all nearby. At the end of the street is a lovely, quiet square. The hotel was recommended by Margaret’s hairdresser, Philip*, and I have been very well taken care of so far.

After checking in, I walked to the rue de Rome, full of music stores, to the Gare St-Lazare. I bought a return ticket to Vernon, to go to Giverny tomorrow. Then I walked down to the Champs Elysées and had an omelette and a glass of wine while watching the people go by. It is magical to be in Paris again.

Saturday, August 24, 1991

Slept well on my down pillows. Walked to the train station through the quiet streets (it was early, Saturday, and August, the traditional month for holidays). There are no direct trains to Vernon on Saturdays or Sundays, so I took an almost empty train to Mantes-La-Jolie and then changed to a train to Vernon. You can take a bus from Vernon station to Monet’s house, but of course I took a taxi**. The taxi driver was very kind and arranged to pick me up a few hours later to take me back to the station. He pointed out a few things en route – a 400 year old mill, barges on the Seine – and said that Monsieur Monet had been beloved in the village. His coffin was driven to his grave on a humble wooden cart, “like one of us”, the driver told me.

I was surprised by how uncrowded the museum was. Entrance to the house and gardens was 30 francs (about $5). I was enchanted by the beauty of the gardens. They are separated by pink gravel paths and often have vine-covered archways, but the general effect is wild and uncultivated. A slim black cat lounged Cleopatra-like on a stone bench, disdaining the passers-by. The garden was a riot of color, filled with roses, geraniums, hydrangeas, black-eyed Susans, sunflowers, and countless others. The waterlily pond looks exactly as it was painted, and it was amazing to stand on that bridge and look at those flowers:

After touring the gardens, I had to find a quiet spot to soak it all in and think.

The house was truly charming. All the Monet paintings in the house are reproductions, and most of the pretty pink stucco house with green shutters is decorated with Japanese prints and drawings. I was especially taken with the cozy yellow dining room and the blue tiled kitchen. The house is very unpretentious and livable. By the time I left, the place was packed and there was a long line to get in. I had timed my pilgrimage well.

When I arrived back in Paris, I visited the Square des Batignolles:

It is delightful, with waterfalls, duck ponds, and a carousel. I am enjoying my temporary neighborhood. I felt quite at home reading the newspaper on a green park bench in the early summer evening. Once again, I marvel at the many people who say Parisians are rude or unkind. Everyone has been quite the opposite to me, from the elderly lady who was amused that we were reading the same newspaper to the man who invited me to admire his little dog. No-one has refused to help me when I asked for directions or information (such as where to buy stamps on a Saturday) and some people (such as the man on the train from Mantes to St-Lazare) are even too friendly. I think it’s all in your own attitude.

*Philip was fantastic. He used to come to Margaret’s house and do her hair every week. He was very flamboyant and very funny, and I always loved talking to him.

**Some things never change.

A YEAR AGO: A loving farewell to a very special man.

Audrey was not my favorite cat when she woke me up before the alarm clock yesterday morning, but the Evil Genius doesn’t worry her stripy little head about such mundane things. Audrey always keeps her big, green eyes on the prize: whatever she happens to want at the moment. Letting Her Majesty out the balcony door, I noticed that the sky was an amazing confection of pink and lavender, much like the Pink Drinks we had at Junapalooza:

I told Erica we should call the magical pink cocktails “Garden Parties”, and this inspired her to start plotting a high tea for next year’s Junapalooza, though we may do it sooner. As the Beach Boys put it, we can’t wait for June.

Meanwhile, Clyde spent his morning catching a squirrel which was almost as big as he was. He dragged it into the house and up the stairs to show me, which horrified me in so many ways, not least of which is the fact that squirrels, while cute in Beatrix Potter drawings, should really stay there. They are undeniably rodential, and their tails are quite rat-like under the fluff. Also they never have waistcoats or gowns like they do in Beatrix Potter tales. This one was completely devoid of accessories.

I induced Clyde to drop the uninvited guest, who wasted no time in heading for the same balcony I let Audrey onto earlier that day, but unfortunately for all of us, the screen door was closed. The squirrel promptly jumped onto the banister, where he found an attentive audience consisting of three extremely focused cats sitting below him. I opened the balcony door, shooed away the would-be predators, and the squirrel made a break for it, racing onto the balcony and out of sight.

Later that day, Rose’s daughter Citlali called me to alert me to the fact that she had just seen a bear lumbering across the Ridge at our driveway. I had arrived home a few minutes before, so I was surprised that I missed this exciting event (in fact, I have yet to see a bear in real life, which is just fine with me. I can stay a bear virgin for the rest of my life as far as I’m concerned). I’m pretty sure that bears are vegetarians, but I wasted no time in getting the cats inside anyway.

About midnight, I woke to a strange scratching sound. I checked to see if one of the cats had closed themselves into a drawer or the armoire, but that wasn’t it. The sound seemed to be coming from downstairs, so I went to investigate. It seemed to be under the stairs, where the box of my Dad’s letters has reposed since Rob started the great bathroom adventure last summer. Audrey sometimes wedges herself in there, but she was asleep upstairs, and I wondered if the squirrel had somehow squirreled himself away in there.

Moments like these are when you realize you’re a grown up. No one else is going to open up the box which may contain a fugitive rodent, or retrieve the pearl earring you dropped in the toilet. I gingerly opened a flap, but it was a rodent-free zone. It turned out that the culprit was the Mysterious Mr. Roscoe, clawing enigmatically at the box for reasons which are unfathomable to me but perfectly logical to a cat. Being Cat Staff can be a little challenging – and sleep depriving.

A YEAR AGO: Cars and dogs – what else is there?

Jessica in a shawl made by her mother

Erica and I are almost birthday twins, with mine being the day before hers, though come to think of it, several years ahead, too. So maybe we aren’t birthday twins, but we decided to celebrate our June birthdays together with a Junapalooza at the family property on Saturday.

I’m both pleased and embarrassed to report that I didn’t do a thing but show up. In my defense, though, I’m the only one who works at least five days a week (and complains eight days a week about it), and Erica actually enjoys cooking (it’s become a tyrannical chore for me. See the five days a week thing). Sometimes I picture her cackling over her cauldron like a fairytale character.

Erica’s fairytale basket was filled with scented dal and chutney made from her own figs and quinces. She also brought a deeply chocolatey three layer cake covered with Swiss buttercream and sprinkles, which, as Erica said, tasted exactly like ice cream, so it was like having cake and ice cream all at once.

As if that weren’t enough, she also bought a flask of high quality gin, a bottle of pink grapefruit juice, and a jar of handmade lavender syrup, which were all whirled into delightful pink cocktails with the addition of ice:

For those of you who want to try making your own lavender syrup at home, be careful to only put in the flowers, since the stems can make the syrup bitter. Other than that, it’s just water and sugar. We need to come up with a name for this delightful confection. It’s the perfect thing for a summer evening.

When Lichen appeared, he brought his own libation ingredients. He set to work zesting limes (he brought his own zester), and made frozen strawberry margaritas, the glasses rimmed with sea salt, which he also brought. We could drink pink as well as think pink*!

The pink theme continued with a raspberry pie made from raspberries grown on the property and picked that very day, which may be why it was mostly demolished before I got a photo opp:

The pie and cake were preceded by the dal and chutney, as well as butter chicken. Jonathan grilled the chicken on the BBQ before putting it in the sauce Megan made. We also had forbidden rice and Megan’s home-made naan with cilantro and shallots. The garlic and onions in the butter chicken sauce came from the property, as did the cilantro and shallots in the naan. It was all delicious, and it was nice to sit by the fire and talk after dinner, replete with deliciousness.

Jessica and I fantasized about an alternate reality, in which we lived in a mansion within walking distance of a charming village with bookstores, cafes, chocolatier, patisserie, cheese shop, charcuterie, and other essentials. The village would be far enough away that we couldn’t see it or hear it, but we wouldn’t have to drive there. Rain would be “plentiful”, as Jessica put it, and there would occasionally be snow, enough to make snowmen and play in. It would never be hotter than 85 degrees F (Erica and Jessica had just suffered through a day of 104 degree heat – and baked a cake in it). Erica would be the chatelaine and run everything. It would be heavenly! A girl can dream.

A YEAR AGO: Around the house.

*I was shocked to learn that Erica and Jessica hadn’t seen Funny Face, starring Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn, with Kay Thompson, the immortal author of the immortal Eloise books (how I love them!) as a Diana Vreeland character admonishing everyone to “Think pink!” It also has some of the first supermodels from the days when they were stunning: Suzy Parker, Dovima, Sunny Harnett. I think a communal viewing is in order, pink drinks non-optional.