Suzy Says

Flowers Outside My Office Door

It’s been so long since it rained that when the pattering on the roof woke me up last night, I was unable to identify the sound at first. Eventually, my sleep-fogged mind realized it was a light shower. By the time the alarm went off, the showers had departed, leaving confused yet happy birds and frogs behind. Needless to say, it wasn’t enough to really water the garden or do any good, though it made the cats curious.

Speaking of cats, the boys turned 5 on Monday! Audrey is slated to turn 8 next month, and has recovered completely from her vet adventures, though my wallet may never recover. As for me, my back is still unhappy and not shy about letting me know. The irony is not lost on me that I’m limping around a medical facility like Igor, though there really isn’t anything anyone can do about it except stone me out on drugs, which a) I hate; and 2) would make it impossible for me to work. And work I have: I worked an eleven and a half hour day on Tuesday and so far this week have packed more than 30 hours into three days.

Today I finally had the sense to bring the small feather pillow from my couch as well as the heating pad to work, so I was able to sit in relative comfort at my sunny desk* during my long day. I tried to do as much as possible when trekking to the other side of the building – making it count! I still have no idea what I did to displease my dorsal region, and am displeased in turn that it’s still bothering me so much. Hopefully it will be better in time for Saturday’s celebration of Erica’s and my birthdays, so I can perch on a hay bale in reasonable comfort and sip gin cocktails. I may really need Jessica to escort me to my car that evening!

*My office has a window overlooking a courtyard landscaped with plants and flowers, like the one you see above. It’s a nice view. I usually don’t need artificial light, which is great.

A YEAR AGO: More car madness. You know, the usual.

I was not too impressed with my birthday week this year. It kicked off with a pricy vet visit (is there any other kind?) and ended with a pricy tire change (is there any other kind?). I also worked on my birthday for the first time in decades, thus violating one of my few principles: Never Work on Your Birthday.

On Thursday, I wasted a perfectly good birthday by working for 11 hours and getting the front two tires replaced on Wednesday (Jessica named my car for her favorite Addams Family character). Between the tires and the alignment, it was close to another $500, which begs the question of why I can come up with $1,000 for vet bills and tires, but not for, say, a trip to Hawaii.

There was a fire south of the scenic cemetery in Little River on my birthday afternoon, and even close to 7 pm, it was a one lane road with a line of cars inching along. When I finally got home, I found a check from the jobette and a bill for my car registration, which exactly canceled each other out.

I woke up on Saturday morning with spasming lower back pain that continues to torture me even as I write, while giving me a preview of the old age I am rapidly hurtling toward. Talk about adding injury to insult!

There’s always next year.

A YEAR AGO: The birthday disaster last year was an out of season power outage.

The Evil Genius Recovering

Maybe I should have put a camera on Audrey. She came home on Saturday hopping like a bunny, not using her back left leg. It didn’t seem broken or dislocated, but she was definitely in pain. She kept growling, even when sitting on my lap. She was no better on Sunday, so on Monday, Megan took Audrey to the vet.

As you know, Audrey does not take kindly to the indignity of the cat carrier or the curviness of the road, so she pooped, threw up, and howled the entire way. As usual, we delivered a foamy furious feline to the unsuspecting vet staff. They x-rayed her leg and took blood tests, and all looked fine. It seemed the problem was one of her toes, though there was no puncture wound or cut or anything.

Dr. Carl gave her shots for pain, nausea, and inflammation, and I wish he could have given them to me, too, because the bill was almost $500. Audrey is back to her old self today, able to walk on all fours and demanding whatever it is she happens to want at the time. Dr. Carl called her “a fierce little woman” , and that about sums it up.

Megan multi-tasked by taking her dogs for a walk while Audrey was being treated, and took the patient home as well, where she closed her inside for a nap. I worried that I overreacted in sending Audrey to the vet, but Dr. Carl said that if your animal can’t walk for 24 hours, he or she needs to be seen. I’m just glad that Audrey is OK and that I have a sister who is kind enough to be a cat taxi.

A YEAR AGO: Car problems instead of cat problems. Why not?

On Saturday, I made a special appearance at the jobette. It was Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial opening of the summer tourist season, and I decided to go in and help out, partly because I’m still on probation at the new job, so I didn’t get paid for Memorial Day, and partly to help out my former work family.

It was good to be back. I took down all the expired event postings in the lobby, refreshed the supply of visitor guides and other tourism materials, added up all the sales and visitor sheets, balanced the cash, updated the database, took out the trash, watered the inside and outside plants (which I suspect has not been done since I left), and washed the dishes. Oh, and turned off the heat, which was blasting when I arrived.

I had a great time chatting with the visitors, and sold $160 worth of art. I imagine my former employers were pleased when they arrived at the office on Tuesday.

I went home and collected the al pastor which I had put in the slow cooker on Friday night. It was my first attempt at making this, and I think from now on I will just leave it to Libby’s, even if they are almost never open. It turned out to be atomically spicy, despite the fact that I only added a teeny can of chipotles in adobo sauce to a 5 pound roast, along with an entire pineapple, a bottle of beer, some red onion, and a couple of tablespoons of chili powder.

To be fair, I have a low spiciness tolerance and believe that food should come in hot, medium, mild and Suzy. But still. I texted Erica in a panic, and she suggested that I drain off the sauce and put in a can of tomato sauce. I didn’t have any tomato sauce – all I had was an extremely unhelpful jar of spicy red pepper sauce – so I went over to Megan’s, even though it was early, since I had to deal with it before heading to the jobette.

Fortunately, she had a can, so I swapped the sauces, and I think it worked just fine. Rob helped me to load the giant slow cooker into the car and we headed over to the family property, where Megan’s birthday BBQ was in full swing:

Erica and Jessica were there, as well as Jarrett and Kalli and Dave and Jennifer. Jarrett had invited his dog Archi’s brother (and his owners), and I couldn’t get over how alike they look:

Lichen also came, bearing rose lemonade for Jessica, and all together, there were nearly 20 people. Erica fried up samosas she had made in a special pot outside by the Waltons-sized picnic table:

They were, of course, delicious.

Erica had also brought a giant, industrial sized jar of mayonnaise:

It turned out to be an elaborate practical joke. Megan hates mayonnaise (we are a family of picky eaters), but Erica bet her that she would be digging into this one. Megan was horrified until she discovered that the jar actually contained vanilla bean-bourbon vanilla pudding, chocolate espresso cookie crumbs, and sea salted caramel sauce, all made from scratch by Erica the Evil Genius. It was insanely delicious.

Erica said it was the hardest dessert she had ever made, since she had to hide the cookie crumbs and sauce inside the pudding, so it still looked convincingly like mayonnaise. Only Erica!

Meanwhile, I was discussing designers with Jessica, saying that I love it that she actually knows who Charles James, Schiaparelli, Claire McCardell, and Madame Grès are (she has all these and more on her Pinterest boards). She said that sometimes it seems like designers are playing a practical joke to see if people will actually wear their crazy clothes. “It’s like, ‘Go home, fashion, you’re drunk!’” Jessica said, referring to some of the more outrageous confections at Fashion Week.

When it was time to go home, Jessica once again offered her arm and asked if she could escort “Fair Suzy” to her car. I love this tradition!

A YEAR AGO: Celebrating Megan’s birthday, of course!

More sweepings from the corners of my life…

On my way to the “gym*” today, I was startled to see Audrey sitting with Mark’s cat Coco on the driveway. They were about six inches apart, both sitting like companionable loaves of bread with all four paws tucked under. As soon as Audrey saw me, she took off in horror, like I’d busted her with a bong or something. It made me wonder about the secret lives of cats. Maybe she is so anxious to get out of the house in the morning because she has a play date with Coco. Or maybe it’s just her Audreyness. It would be fun to put little cameras on all three of the cats and see what they do all day.

The drugstore is next to the tire store, so while Wednesday’s balding tires were being inflated and my wallet deflated, I stopped in to pick up some sundries. The UPS guy who delivers to the jobette was ahead of me in line, buying an outdoor couch**. I offered to help him load it into his truck, and we did just that. After all, he helped me to unload countless boxes during the good old jobette days. He says they miss me and it’s just not the same without me.

Someone came by looking for Rose the other day. After nearly six years in her former home, I thought I was finished giving people the sad news, but apparently not. The visitor was as shocked and saddened as you’d expect. We chatted for a little while, and it turned out that he was from Wimbledon, where my father lived. He had lived here on the coast for a few years and returned to his native land due to family obligations. He said he’d love to move back here to this magical place.

It’s been cloudy for what seems like weeks now, but not a drop of rain. It’s like Narnia when the White Witch was in charge: always winter, but never Christmas. Always grey, but no rain. Given the seemingly endless drought, I stopped by the nursery and picked up some succulents, in shades of red and purple, to brighten up the garden without depleting the water supply. The nursery owner told me that he had just done the very same thing at his home the day before. I think they will look nice when they spread out a bit.

*The “gym” being a place Mark built to be his office, but was taken over by his daughters as a hang out space. The treadmill and TV are there, too. Lately, I’ve been watching “Bewitched” while I’m on the treadmill and Lupe has a nap.

**People who live in other places might be surprised to learn that you can buy lawn furniture, cheap shoes, booze, and cigarettes in drugstores here. I was equally surprised to learn that you can’t in Michigan, where I had to walk several blocks in the stifling heat to buy some much-needed booze in Detroit.

A YEAR AGO: A lot of sadness.

One thing about Wednesday – and it’s not just Wednesday, it’s every new car, it seems – is the endless binging and bonging and nagging. Sometimes it’s useful (“Uh, Suz…you left the lights on”) and sometimes it’s just annoying (Yes, I realize that my seatbelt isn’t on. Because, you know, I didn’t put it on). And then there’s the autolock feature, snapping all the locks shut as if a horde of carjackers was attacking me as I lurch down the narrow dirt driveway at 5 miles an hour. I have tried to no avail to turn this off, and I can never quite get used to it.

I have also gotten to the point where I am phobic about warning lights on the dashboard, which seem to happen more often than I would like. The other day, the “low tire pressure” light came on, and it took a couple of days before I could get to the tire place. Once there, Rick the tire guy* informed me that the two front tires needed to be replaced. He said that I shouldn’t go out of town or anything, which I found alarming.

As usual when anything alarming happens to the car, I immediately thought of my brother, and on my way home that night, I stopped by his place. He took a look and noted that the tire on the passenger side was more worn than the one on the driver side. He said that if they both looked like the one on the driver’s side, he wouldn’t replace them, but when you do one, you have to do both.

He also said that low tire pressure is the main reason for wear like that (besides, of course, our rough and bumpy roads). I had been relying on the light telling me to get the tires checked rather than taking Wednesday to have Rick check her tires every couple of months as I did with Miss Scarlett. My general automotive ineptitude makes it impossible for me to put air in the tires, let alone read the pressure, and I’d much rather take it to the pros and get it done right and quickly. The problem is I haven’t been doing it enough.

Jonathan said I should just drive more slowly**(!) and replace them within the next month or so, since it’s not winter and I don’t have to worry about rain. He added that it might be worth just doing it now for the peace of mind, though the cost of two new tires is not conducive to peace of mind.

*He also told me that his wife, who used to work behind the counter and do the books, had died of lung cancer at Christmas, which I was very sorry to hear. He said he was working as much as possible to try and keep his mind off it, but he still looked stricken.

**No matter how I try, I am an impatient driver, which is not good, especially during tourist season. Jonathan pointed out that going 10 miles over the speed limit gets me to the Big Town about two minutes sooner and risks a ticket, though he added that when he’s driving long hauls, like between here and LA, it’s worth it, since he gets there about an hour and a half sooner. It’s all relative. Just ask my relative.

A YEAR AGO: Things were sad.

I had a lovely Saturday.

I started the day off with a return visit to Angelika’s little salon in the big woods, where she brightened my hair and my outlook, and trimmed off another couple of inches. As usual, I left feeling happy in my outer and inner selves. Who needs a therapist when you have an Angel(ika)?

My friend Erin was working at a rummage sale to benefit her son’s school, which I pass on my way to Angelika’s, so I stopped in to say hello. I valiantly resisted the urge to buy more stuff – I should be getting rid of things, not accumulating them – and stayed and chatted for a while. We are hoping to get together for a drink and a gossip soon.

Megan had also had her hair cut and highlighted, and for once we actually had somewhere to go to show off our unaccustomed ‘dos: dinner and a play! First, though, we had to stop by the family property, where Megan went to feed Dave and Jennifer’s horses while they were out of town, and I took a stroll around the garden, nibbling sun warmed strawberries:

As we headed toward the Village, I told Megan that I had stopped in to see Jim a few days ago. This week marked the first anniversary of his husband’s death, and I was both surprised and pleased that he is doing so well. I admire his strength and courage. I also mentioned that I often see Siri, the gentleman who married Jim and Joel, at work since he conducts breathing skills classes there, and how wonderful he is.

Approaching the restaurant, who did we see but Siri! I introduced Megan and we had a lovely chat before joining our friends Lu and Rik for dinner.

After dinner, we headed over to the theater:

to see the play “Mauritius”, in which the cast of four tries to out con each other over two very valuable stamps. Who knew stamp collecting could be so dark and devious? The set was minimal but effective:

We were surprised and delighted to find our friend Lichen there, looking dapper. We are plotting a strawberry margarita extravaganza in his new kitchen (which I still haven’t seen) in the near future. I can’t wait!

A YEAR AGO: Roscoe is a little alarming.

“’Wilmet, when you work for your living – and I hope you may never have to – you find that there are some days when you can hardly bear to do your work, and others when you definitely cannot bear to. This has been one of those days. I woke up this morning knowing that I couldn’t bear it, so I didn’t go.’

I hardly knew what to say. Neither sympathy nor reproach seemed quite what was called for.”

Barbara Pym, A Glass of Blessings

I’m finding the return to working five days a definite challenge. It’s been many years since I had to do that, and when I did, I had a cleaning lady twice a month, so I didn’t have to spend my precious weekends cleaning my spacious apartment, and I (usually) finished work around 3:00 pm, so I had time to run errands and go to the gym as I walked home up and down the San Francisco hills.

Now I get up about half an hour later than I did then, but I get home around 5:00 pm if I’m lucky, and I drive about 250 miles a week to do it. Everything is closed when I go to work, and it’s closed when I leave work. It’s not easy going back to prison once you’ve escaped, and it’s been a long time since I was in the hamster cage. However, the cage is currently the best case scenario – the alternative being a tent or cardboard box on the family property – so I have had to find a way to cope. I’m working toward a sort of transcendental acceptance. Not there yet, though.

Here’s what I’ve been doing:

• A dear friend sent me a book on how to do yoga anywhere, including while washing dishes, brushing your teeth, in the shower, even at your desk in the hamster cage, and I’ve been doing that as much as I can. I try to be conscious of my posture and breathing, even in the car.
• I downloaded an app called Calm to my phone, and every day I go and sit in the car and do a five minute meditation. I forgot to do it this past Saturday, but before that I did it every day for three weeks.
• I try and jump on the treadmill at Mark’s before work, and succeed most days. Unlike the rest of the world, exercise makes me tired and hungry, but not notably more tired than I already am from getting up at 5:00 am. Not for the first time, I wish my parents had sprung for the deluxe package with the endorphins. Bonus: it’s extra reading time! So far, I have found reading is the best distraction from the horrors of exercise.
• I savor every moment of joy, whether it’s just cuddling Roscoe in the early morning darkness before I get up, or the golden sunlight slanting through the eucalyptus trees, or the parting of the trees when I get my first glimpse of ocean for the day.
• I spend as much time as I can with my family and friends. This is also one of my resolutions for the year, and just knowing I’m meeting Megan, Lu, and Rik for dinner and a play this weekend can help raise my spirits (even though I have to fight not to be depressed on Saturday afternoon because it’s almost Sunday and who can enjoy Sunday with prison doors yawning?) Also, you can either have fun or get things done on the weekend, but you can’t do both. Nor will you have time to recharge your aging batteries.
• I try to be thankful for what I have: a roof over my head (admittedly quirky); a car that goes (though not paid off or even close to paid off); family and friends nearby. Angelika says she tries to be thankful for even small things, like a cup of coffee, and I’m trying to do that, too, though I’m more successful on some days than others.

Neither sympathy nor reproach is called for, though I’d be glad of any advice or suggestions!

A YEAR AGO: Rob the handyman.

Star & Stella

Megan pointed out a shocking oversight in my blog: I never told you that she and Rob officially adopted Stella!

You may remember that Stella came into our lives at the puppy tail end of 2013, when Monica heroically agreed to find homes for two year old Stella and her 11 (yes, 11) puppies. Being Monica, she somehow managed to finagle a free room at one of the loveliest resorts on the coast as a nursery, and also found homes for all of the babies.

Megan and Rob agreed to take Stella on a trial basis, partly because Star is, as Megan puts it, “dog selective”, and partly because their hearts were still broken over the loss of their beloved Schatzi. It turns out that Stella and Star are a great match, and it’s good for Star to have another dog around again. Star, like me, can be nervous and unsure, but Stella just barges right into life fearlessly. Nothing bothers her, and she does everything 110%, 110% of the time, whether it’s sleeping, eating, or playing.

The other day, Megan stopped by to see me at work while Rob was at a doctor’s appointment, and brought the dogs with her. Stella was almost as happy to see me as Star, and I’m convinced that I have extra credit with Star because I was there with Megan when Star was rescued from her bad old life. Stella is definitely part of the family now, and it just goes to show that dogs choose us, not the other way around.

Star turned seven on Cinco de Mayo this year, marking her fifth year with Megan and Rob. I bet she doesn’t even remember the bad old days, and it’s so nice to see her cuddle up with Stella, two happy dogs in a happy home.

A YEAR AGO: A field trip with Megan and Stella.

Derby Day dawned foggy, wrapping the world in a cool silver mist, which was just fine with me after a couple of unseasonably and unreasonably hot days, when I came home from the coolness of the Big Town to a scorching 83 degrees:

As you know, I find anything over 75 completely unnecessary, so I was glad when Karl the Fog made a return engagement, though I realize this is not a popular opinion. What can I say? I have a pro blanket policy, year round. It’s a blanket policy.

I was also delighted to learn that there’s a new Royal baby in London, a lovely and healthy little princess with a serious pedigree of style. It was a happy note to start the day on, and the day just got happier as I made my to Angelika’s little salon in the big woods:

It may have been chilly outside, but inside, candles glowed against the coral walls, lavender scented the air, and towels were warming on the heater. One of Angelika’s dogs came in and sat at my feet as Angelika cut my hair and we caught up on each other’s news. She cut two inches off – I hadn’t had it cut since October – and I am hoping to afford highlights soon – I haven’t had it highlighted since last February. It still looks pretty good, though:

I got home in time for the Kentucky Derby, which as you know is my favorite sporting event of the year. And why not? Name another sport which has a red carpet, glamorous celebrities, outrageous hats, practically mandatory daytime drinking, gorgeous horses, a century of tradition, and is over before even I have time to get bored. My favorite jockey, the inimitable Calvin Borel, was not in contention since his horse was scratched at the last moment, but it was nice to see Victor Espinoza win for the second year in a row, proclaiming, “I feel like the luckiest Mexican on earth!” Inspiring that he saved up from his bus driving job to learn to be jockey and made it all the way to win the greatest horse race on earth.

A YEAR AGO: Rob the handyman.

While I was getting ready for work one morning this week, I was abruptly jolted from my makeup routine by the distinctive sound of a cat fight in progress. I knew the boys were inside (they like to eat some breakfast and then go back to bed lately), so I figured it was Audrey defending her realm.

I ran out the bathroom door, lip gloss in hand, and chased away a large white cat. Audrey appeared unharmed, but she wouldn’t come in the house so I could see up close and personal. But even my Worrier self knew that a cat who is the terror of the neighborhood dogs can take of herself. And after all, she is something of an evil genius. I was still glad to see Mark’s dog Luna on patrol as I left for work. I really think having Luna and Lupe around keeps us all safer, and I’m pretty sure they also keep the garden eating deer at bay.

In addition to their security duties, Lupe and Luna always come to meet me when I get home from home, merrily wagging their tails and enjoying the pets and attention. Nothing makes you feel more appreciated than a dog who is happy to see you. The other day, I saw Clyde messing around in the bushes near Megan’s house as I drove past, and as soon as he saw me, he scampered homewards, meeting me at the same time as the dogs.

Lupe has also taken to overseeing my jaunts on Mark’s treadmill. I try to get over there most mornings, and lately Lupe has been joining me. The treadmill is in a little building Mark originally intended to be his office, but has been taken over by his teenaged daughters as a hanging out spot, though not early in the morning.

While I hop on the treadmill, Lupe curls up on the floor and goes to sleep while I walk and read, reminding of the way Schatzi used to curl up on the bathmat when I took a bath while she visited me in the city, long ago. When I’m done, she follows me out of the building and then trots home to get on with her day while I get on with mine.

A YEAR AGO: the madness that is Covered California.

Marco

Megan woke up after her fourth long night shift last week to find a series of texts from our dear friend Lu. Lu had taken her huge, sweet Rottweiler Marco to see Dr. Karen and discovered that he had the same cancer that claimed Lichen’s Rottweiler Padawan at this time of year a few years ago.

Marco’s cancer was so advanced that the bone in one of his legs was almost gone, unbeknownst to Lu and probably Marco, and had spread through his great chest, so it was clear that the time had come. As you may remember, Marco suddenly and inexplicably went blind three years ago, and I’m sure many people would have put him to sleep then. But Lu and Rik dabbed doorways and the location of his food and water bowls with different essential oils, so he could negotiate his way around the home he had lived in most of his life, and it worked well.

When Megan arrived at Lu and Rik’s house, Rik was giving Marco a warm bath in the outdoor clawfoot tub, a treat which Marco always loved. Tears were pouring down Rik’s face as Marco basked in the warm, soapy water. He enjoyed a towel dry before settling down in front of the heater, surrounded by family and friends. Dr. Karen’s dedicated staff made one last house call, making Marco’s farewell as peaceful and comfortable as possible.

Poor Harlow, his little sister (she and Marco can be seen together here), was very sad. Her forehead was wrinkled all evening, and she sniffed him carefully. At least she knew what happened – I would think it would be much harder for Harlow if Marco just disappeared one day. Hopefully she will adjust, along with Lu and Rik, but Marco leaves a big hole in our lives. He may have been 137 pounds, but the biggest thing about him was his heart.

Marco was too big to bury, so he was cremated. There is a local glassmaker who will make the ashes into a special piece of glasswork, so Marco will always be with the people who loved him. Sleep well, gentle giant. You are loved and missed.

A YEAR AGO: The other side of the circle of life, celebrating Jessica’s 11th birthday.

Sleepy Clyde

On Friday night, I was enjoying a cocktail or three (sometimes my moderation tends to be on the immoderate side) while reading in bed with all three cats when I heard an unfamiliar sound. It was the pitter patter of little raindrops! This morning, I was delighted to find half an inch of the rain in the rain gauge. Especially because now I don’t have to choose between feeling guilty about watering (the drought!) or not watering (the plants!).

I was less delighted by the sight of Roscoe throwing up his breakfast, though at least I was able to get him off my beautiful new rug and onto the much easier to clean distressed wood floor. He is still recovering from the scratch on his head and another one on his throat. He really has to stop being so careless of his beauty. As I write, he is curled up asleep on the bed, which I made around him. There is nothing cozier than a sleeping Roscoe, and somehow he manages to look dignified when he’s asleep. And scratched up.

While Roscoe enjoyed his beauty sleep, I made some lunches for during the week. Thinking up something to make for lunch for every day is almost as challenging as coming up with professional looking outfits for every day. I made some curried chicken salad with apple, celery, and raisins, and tried a new recipe for:

Roasted Sweet Potato and Quinoa Salad With Mango Balsamic Vinaigrette

For the salad:

1 small sweet potato, unpeeled, diced into bite-sized pieces
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup quinoa
1/2 cup black beans
1/4 red pepper, diced
2 cups salad greens
1 tablespoon dried cranberries
1 tablespoon salted sunflower seeds

For the dressing:

1/4 cup mango, fresh or frozen
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil

DIRECTIONS

Preheat oven to 400ºF.

Place the sweet potatoes in a bowl, add oil, and stir to coat. Sprinkle with a touch of salt and pepper. Spread evenly on a pan, and roast for 20 or so minutes, stirring a couple times, until the potatoes are soft.

Place the quinoa and half a cup of water in a covered pot on high. Bring to a boil, reduce to simmer, and cook for 15 to 20 minutes or until the liquid is all soaked up and the quinoa is tender.

Puree the mango with the balsamic vinegar and water, and set aside.

Allow the roasted potatoes and quinoa to cool to room temperature. Mix with the black beans, red bell pepper, dried cranberries, and sunflower seeds. Toss with dressing and greens when ready to eat.

A YEAR AGO: A visit to the de Young Museum.

Birthday Girl

As you know, Jessica’s twelfth birthday was April 15, but we celebrated it a couple of days later, on a Saturday – about the only day of the week we can all get together now. And celebrate it we did! We started off by meeting at Franny’s Cup & Saucer in beautiful downtown Point Arena. Jonathan joined us, adding an uncle to the auntourage, and there wasn’t enough room in Franny’s teacup sized establishment to fit us all at once as we perused the pastries and chocolates in the glass case.

Eventually, we repaired with our choices to the bench outside and shared them while chatting. I observed to Jessica that she wouldn’t want to do this kind of thing much longer since she was growing up, and she replied “Hormones don’t make you stupid!” Thinking of some beaux in my distant past, I said, “Oh yes, they do, “ and she said, “Not that stupid! You will always be fabulous!” accompanied by a hug.

We had enough time to stop by the pier at Point Arena and watch the surfers skimming over the waves:

I was amazed by their skill in maneuvering through the rough waters and avoiding the many jagged rocks in the bay.

We made our way to the B. Bryan Preserve, where we were joined by two fair sized groups. It soon became clear that this was a much fancier deal than it was nearly two years ago, when Megan and I had our magical safari together: just us and Frank, the curmudgeonly guide. I’m glad for their success, but I’m also glad that Megan and I have that special enchanted memory together.

After the mini talk about the Preserve’s mission to save and breed these beautiful, endangered animals, we loaded into a 1967 Range Rover, equipped with a canvas roof and apparently not equipped with shocks, which were plenty as we jounced over the rough terrain.

Unlike our earlier trip, we stayed in the Range Rover for most of the tour, though we also drove right into the vast, fenced fields where the zebra and antelope played. Also unlike last time, when Frank admonished us that this wasn’t a petting zoo (it still isn’t), we could actually pet a few month old Grevy’s zebra, little Karen Sue:

Her mother died giving birth to her, and Karen Sue was saved by none other than our dear vet, Dr. Karen – hence her name. Since Karen Sue was hand raised, you can pet her, but those days will end when she joins the regular herd in the next few months. So this was a special treat. And those teddy bear ears are as soft as they look. I imagine I am one of the very few people who has stroked a live Grevy’s zebra.

We ended at the Rothschild giraffes, where Sonny, Buster and Jagger (my favorite from last time) have been joined by two more brothers. In fact, Frank was on his way to pick up the “new” boys after our last tour. Like Megan and me, Jessica was charmed by feeding the giraffes. There really is nothing like seeing one swooping down toward you, their huge, soulful eyes, fake looking lashes, and black tongues. You really haven’t lived until you’ve kissed a giraffe.

At the end of the tour, Jessica pronounced it “Totally awesome” while jumping up and down. We then headed to Anchor Bay, where some of the best Thai food ever is to be found and enjoyed. Just like the Preserve, Megan and I were the only ones in our party to have been there before, and we couldn’t wait to share its joys.

Just like the Preserve, everyone was delighted and impressed. We shared our dishes and still had enough to take home and enjoy another night. We kissed Erica and Jessica goodbye and headed home as the sun set over the glorious Pacific. The immortal Lou Reed put it best when he sang, “Oh, it’s such a perfect day/I’m glad I spent it with you.”

A YEAR AGO: Meetings and manicures.

My blog turns 14 today! Can you believe it? And can you believe that I actually remembered?

So many things have changed since I first started this blog, though my lack of techspertise isn’t one of them. I wanted to make a list comparing the changes, tried a couple of plug ins to no avail, and ended up with old fashioned HTML (with limited success). You have been warned.

[column-group][column span=”2″]Then

• Married
• Living in San Francisco
• Owning now million dollar art deco apartment with walk in closets and view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the roof. No parking for 1966 Mustang convertible (paid off).
• Both parents alive.
• Making enough money to go to Europe every year, not worry about paying the mortgage, and able to buy art and books.

[/column]
[column]Now[/column]

• Not
• Living in the boonies
• Renting hippie hovel with no closets, no insulation, and no counter space. Lots of parking for 2008 Fusion (still paying it off), though.
• Both parents dead.
• Constant fears of how to pay rent and bills. Can’t remember the last time I went on vacation. Let passport expire for the first time in my entire life since I hadn’t used it in 12 years and couldn’t afford the requisite $150.

[/column-group]

Of course, constants in my life are cats (though not the same ones; John still has Jack, the last of the cats we had together) and my family, to whom I am closer and more grateful for than ever. It will be interesting to see what the next fourteen years bring.

A YEAR AGO: Happy blogday to me!

Brothers

The cats seem to enjoy my new schedule as much (or as little) as I do. Clyde the mama’s boy has reverted to his endearing, though awkward, habit of sleeping on my head, and even Her Audreyness sits on my lap as much as possible – when she’s not demanding to be let in or out or chasing dogs, that is.

As for the Mysterious Mr. Roscoe, he is his elusive and glamorous self, basking on the balcony in the spring sunshine or napping on top of the armoire, which has the advantages of being warm, topped with a quilt, and impossible to sneak up on.

The other evening, I petted his head and knocked off a scab, which in turn revealed an alarming amount of ickiness. He must have had a scratch that got infected. And he already has a huge scratch on his throat which has been healing up for a while. I cleaned out the scratch as best I could, applied Vetericyn, and hoped for the best while Roscoe hid in horror. I feel like a bad parent for not noticing earlier, but at least he’s on the mend.

Speaking of on the mend….Megan took Rob to the County seat for an appointment with a specialist who may have come up with a non narcotic way of dealing with the pain caused by Rob’s crumbling spine. As you may recall, Rob has had two surgeries on his neck over the past few years, and he isn’t eager to do an encore. Based on the experience he had at the new doctor’s, though, he may be able to put it off indefinitely.

The doctor numbed the nerve, and it basically eliminated the pain. Since it worked well, the doctor will kill the nerve with radio waves, and that should last about a year. The nerve may grow back, and it may grow back in a different place, but it can just be re-zapped with no side effects to Rob. He happened to be walking past my house when I got home from work, and you should have seen how happy he looked. Seeing Rob happy makes me happy, too.

A YEAR AGO: A less than fun day.

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, Megan and I made our way to the Hooterville school for a lecture on local history. As we pulled into the parking lot, we met our friend who helped to create the giant garden over at the family property, and whose family also sold The Byrds’ Gene Clark his home in Hooterville many years ago. His dog stayed in his yellow truck as we walked into the school together.

Everyone who was anyone was there, including our brother. We found seats* – no one likes sitting at the front of the class – and settled in for the lecture. It was given by an archaeologist and local historian, who had clearly spent a lot of time researching the area.

Hooterville, like San Francisco itself, was a federal land grant to legendarily opportunistic English sea captain William Richardson. It appears that Richardson never lived here, or possibly ever set foot on its distant shores (I can’t imagine how long it would have taken to get here in 1850). Since he died bankrupt, ownership of Hooterville was the subject of legal wranglings for many years until the matter was finally settled by the Supreme Court, who granted ownership to Richardson’s creditors. Let the logging begin!

It’s hard to believe that there was ever a busy mill complex:

located beneath the now iconic bridge (built in 1944, relatively recently):

and that no trace now remains of the bustling industry there.

There were several fires over the years, and the mills were rebuilt each time, adding a company store and even a hotel. Workers could buy items from the company store on credit and have the cost deducted from their future pay. My guess is this system meant that workers got little, if any, cash and probably ended up owing their employers.

The company store did not sell alcohol, so in true Hooterville fashion, a store opened which did and which also had a pay phone. I’m happy to report that the store and pay phone are still there, and are still the heart of Hooterville. I was particularly thankful for both when Miss Scarlett met her untimely end a couple of years ago.

Logging at Hooterville came to an end in 1930 or so. The mill shut down and was abandoned for several years before being razed into oblivion to make way for building the bridge. Now the same area is home to RV parking, a little café and shop. The steep road/path leading to it, the ocean and cliffs and wild beauty of the area are little changed.

A YEAR AGO: Playing on the beach with Megan and Stella.

*They were incredibly uncomfortable and butt numbing. It was both a relief and a difficulty to stand up, reminding me of Martin Landau in “Ed Wood” saying, “This is the most uncomfortable coffin I’ve ever been in.”

I’ve been quite the cultural maven lately.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Megan and I enjoyed a breathtaking performance of A Streetcar Named Desire, beamed all the way from London to our little corner of the world. And just a couple of days ago, Megan and I met up with Lu and Jennifer for dinner and a play. So sophisticated!

We picked Jennifer up at the property, where she and Dave are hopefully going to start building their home this year, and headed to the Village, where we met up with Lu. We ordered a pizza, salad, and a bottle of local wine and headed upstairs to grab a table under the cozy eaves while dinner was being made.

It was nice to laugh and talk as we shared dinner. I had thought we’d given ourselves way too much time, but before we knew it, it was time to head to the theater. We took our seats in the second row and prepared to enjoy the classic Gaslight. As soon as the lights went down and the play started, we were caught up in the magic and the drama, and we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

There were some differences between the movie, starring Ingrid Bergman and the evilly suave Charles Boyer, and the play, but I was the only one in our group who had seen the movie, so I was alone in my dramatic mental comparing and contrasting. I think the theater did very well with a minimal set:

and a minimal cast, including the actor who played the father in Other Desert Cities and now played the Inspector who rescues the damsel in distress. This year’s season also includes performances of Mauritius and The Normal Heart, which we would all like to see, so there are other lovely evenings in my future.

A YEAR AGO: Playing with Stella on the beach.

Poor Change! No-one loves you, including Me.

Especially when it includes working eight five days a week. It’s been fifteen years or so since I did that, meaning that I was younger and, as Jessica put it when she herself was much younger, “fresher*”. I also did not have to drive more than an hour a day to do it (in fact, my car problem then consisted mostly of finding parking for my 1966 Mustang convertible, Josephine). And I had a wonderful cleaning lady who came every other week and cost a mere $50 a pop.

Alas, none of these things are still the case, so I’m leaving the house around 7 am and getting back around 5, if I’m lucky. Unfortunately, the person I now work for is a night owl and tends to get to work around 10, whereas my preference is to get in early and get it over with, so I’m hoping we can find something that works for both of us.

Having said that, though, she is very nice, and I actually have an office again, though it is a mess:

I am hoping that I can bring some order to the chaos and prettify it soon.

One of the things about working at a medical facility, even in administration, is that you have to be up to date on your immunizations. They scheduled me for a series that is required for all women under 40, and when I revealed the Awful Truth, they revised it to a blood test to make sure that I was immune to whatever these things are.

So I went over to get my blood taken, but the Calamity Suzy Factor made sure that it did not go as planned. It turns out that my veins are the only things about me that are not shallow, so the poor nurse spent a lot of time prospecting for a useful one with no result, much like a botched execution. Also? Those tourniquet things hurt. I don’t know how junkies do it.

As the search continued, I began to feel a little light headed and then nauseous, so the search was called off. The nurse gave me juice and peanut butter crackers and sat me by an open window until I felt better. To be fair, I hadn’t eaten in about 16 hours, but it was still a little on the embarrassing side. She was really nice about it, and apparently we will try again another day. Wish me luck!

*When Jessica was small, she noticed the difference in the energy level between Schatzi and my mother’s much older dog. Megan explained that Schatzi was younger, and Jessica nodded, saying, “Schatzi is much fresher!”

A YEAR AGO: An evening at the theater.

As I mentioned, there were photos of Me in the care package John sent after Ramona’s death, and I thought I’d share some with you.

Here I am with my mother’s father, Hoho, at what seems to be one of my very first Christmases. That’s a photo of Mom with her cat Smokey on the shelf beside us:

Nana and Hoho had their Christmas tree in the front parlor, which had 7 foot high windows and a beautiful fireplace. I recently made the mistake of stalking the house on line, and discovered that egregious renovations had been done to its Victorian magnificence, but the beautiful fireplace remains*.

This time, Daddy’s Daddy is holding a fancily dressed me:

For some reason, I seem to think that this is my third birthday party. Daddy’s Daddy is looking at me like I’m from another planet. Maybe it’s my freakishly square, yet blobby head. I once told my Dad that I thought I was an ugly baby, and he responded matter of factly, “Yes, I felt quite sorry for you.” Side note: I bet that plant on the sideboard didn’t make it.

This is Jonathan and me at a house we rented in Kent before Megan was born:

Even then, we loved cats!

I’m in my early 20s here. I still love that hair! Even though it’s my natural color:

You might think I’m wearing jeans, but they are actually linen pants which I dyed. I’m looking up a profiterole recipe for Megan’s birthday.

My dear friend A, she of the near-fatal illness a few years ago, took this picture of me not far from her 17th century home in the red light district of Amsterdam:

We always had such a great time together. One of these days, I hope to get to London to visit her. A girl can dream. And remember the past with love.

*The attic also remains untouched. When I was a girl, Smokey’s bed was still up there, though Smokey himself was long gone.

A YEAR AGO: Clyde is a merry little outlaw.