Suzy Says

Surprise! Rob’s surgery is no longer scheduled for Friday, June 24. It’s now scheduled for Wednesday, June 22, at 10:00 am.

UCSF called this morning and told them of the change of schedule. Megan found someone to substitute for her tonight (she had already taken Tuesday and Wednesday off), and went to the store to get milk for her coffee.

Or tried to. Her car died suddenly before she could even get out of the driveway. A house call from our brother revealed that things were very bad, but he had to scrub off the grease and get to his own 48 hour shift at work. If it needs a new transmission, Megan will have to buy a new car. When she gets back from Rob’s surgery in the city.

All this happened while I was at the jobette. I checked my messages at lunch, as I always do, and called Megan right away and got all the details. I told her she could take my car to the city, and when I got back to work, I told my boss about it. She immediately told me to take the rest of the week off and go home right away – Megan needed to take the dogs over to Lu’s house, since we’re leaving at 8:00 tomorrow to get to San Francisco in time for the pre-op festivities.

Think good thoughts for us. I’ll keep you posted.

To continue our family timepiece theme, here’s a clock my brother made with nixie tubes and framed. It’s at the foot of his bed. I asked him if it had an alarm, but he said no. He added that he didn’t need one, which seems to be a family trait. I think I’ve been woken up by my alarm clock once since I started the jobette, nearly five months ago.

I noticed the clock while Megan and I were over there on Saturday. Dave and Jennifer, the co-owners of the property, were visiting from their home in distant Grass Valley. Megan catered dinner, making chicken tikka masala, brown rice, grill bread, cucumber salad, and an apple pie. Due to work, my involvement was limited to putting the marinated chicken on skewers (and later, on the barbecue) and holding the pie while we drove over there. Oh, and eating.

It was delicious, and it was nice to sit by the fire and catch up with Dave and Jennifer as the sun began to drop toward the ocean. Hopefully they will be back soon for another visit.

Yesterday, Rob and I (well, mostly Rob) finally took the grandfather clock out of its box.

It was the first time the grand old timepiece had seen the light of day since I sold my apartment in San Francisco nearly six years ago. There was no room for it in my tiny Oakland house, so it languished in Mom’s storage unit in Santa Rosa until the long and fateful day when my brother and I finally emptied it out.

I couldn’t find a place in my present place, either, so it stayed in the Box that Rob Built. When Rob makes something, he does it right. He made the case out of several pieces of wood, which he transported on the bus to my apartment. My brother thought the case was too big, but he reckoned without the styrofoam and bubble wrap Rob was planning to use to cushion the ancient clock within its case. Always trust the Rob.

While driving to the jobette one day, it occurred to me that perhaps I could put the clock beside the staircase. Now that I no longer have a bathtub, the seemingly endless drives to Charlottesville and back seem to be my best place for thinking, even though driving itself uses up both of my brain cells.

I suggested the idea to Rob, who thought it just might work. He came over yesterday morning, bearing a huge basket of laundry, and while I dealt with the clothes, he dealt with the clock.

It took him quite a while to unscrew the many screws holding the box together, even with an electric thing to do it with. Then he carefully removed the front of the case, revealing the clock’s face:

Here it is, still in its case. Rob remarked that he probably won’t end up in as nice a box as this, and he’s probably right:

Here it is in place, finials (oddly untarnished) and all:

Somehow, it seems appropriate that we set it up on the weekend of Father’s Day, since the clock has been in Dad’s family (on his mother’s side) since it was first made, in the mid to late 1770s. It is probably older than the country it now lives in. It was made by John Jullion of Brentford, England, who also made what is the oldest clock on public display in Australia. That clock was made in 1770, the year that Captain Cook landed at Kurnell. It now resides in Cronulla’s clock tower.

The finished product

The sharp-eyed among you may have noticed the frying pan on the stove in an earlier entry. In it was my attempt at one of the vaguest recipes I have ever attempted. It was one of Rose’s, and her daughter gave it to me to try. As one who doesn’t measure much, I have sympathy for a certain imprecision when it comes to amounts, but this was a little bit of a challenge.

For one thing, it didn’t say how much chicken* to start with. Other than that, it said 1 leek (I substituted shallot, since I had it and I doubt if the Hooterville store has leeks), 2 apples (“cut in squares”) and chicken broth (but now how much). Here’s the recipe:

Curry Chicken!

Brown the chicken in oil. Take out from the skillet.

1 leek

2-3 apples in squares, add.

2 tablespoons curry powder, add!

Fill with chicken broth. Add chicken. Let it boil 20 minutes in low temp. Eat with white rice.

I browned the chicken with the shallots and apples in a little canola oil. I have to admit that I have a horror of undercooked onions, and I thought the whole thing would taste better if everything was browned first. I used broth from my freezer and I had curry powder, though not the curry powder I wanted. Actually, when I was in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago, I looked all over for Sharwood’s, the curry powder of my youth, but could not find it. I ended up adding an extra tablespoon while remembering the curries Dad used to make for us in my long-ago youth.

The recipe turned out well, and I’d recommend trying it. Also, it was nice to make Rose’s recipe in her kitchen. It’s funny: I do tend to be superstitious, and I liked Rose tremendously, but I never feel haunted at all by her presence. If anything, I feel comforted and friendly. As Mark said at her funeral fiesta nearly two years ago, “She is everywhere here.”

*And I felt pretty damn guilty after seeing the pretty neighbor chickens, I can tell you.

Jessica at dinner

Megan and I overcame severe attacks of The Sloths to meet up with Erica and Jessica yesterday evening in beautiful downtown Philo:

to have dinner at the always-delicious Libby’s:

Partly because Erica’s birthday is one day after mine (and ten days after Megan’s), and partly because Erica and Jessica are setting off on a great summer adventure in just a few days. After we hugged hello, Jessica noticed the scratch that Roscoe inflicted on my upper lip the night before. She said, “At first I thought you made a mistake with your lipstick. But I know you better than that.”

In preparation for the trip, Erica bought a van from our friend Lu. I’ve never seen inside it, but Lu, her boyfriend Rik, and Megan used to take it when they worked as medics at a reggae festival. It has a kitchenette and two beds and is supposed to be quite comfortable. Maybe it’s more of a mini-RV than a van. My knowledge of motor vehicles is pretty limited, and I like it that way.

The intrepid twosome is heading north, with stops in Portland and Seattle, maybe even venturing as far as exotic Vancouver*. When we asked Jessica what she was looking forward to the most, she exclaimed, “Science museums!”, bouncing in her chair with excitement. Later, she confided to me that “the scientific gears in my brain are always turning”. The imaginative one, she explained, holding her hands a few inches apart, was much bigger, but didn’t move as much.

She has just read the first Harry Potter book. She said that she hadn’t wanted to read it because of all the fuss about it. She “didn’t like it at first, but then I loved it!” From there, it was on to the joys of Calvin and Hobbes. I asked Jessica if she thought Hobbes was real. She thought about it, and then said “I think he’s real, but he turns into a stuffed tiger when people who don’t understand are there.”

Talk of the transmogrifier and duplicator in C&H led (naturally) to talk of time machines. I asked Jessica where she’d go if she had one, and she immediately replied, “I’d go and warn the Incas about the Spanish. Then I’d go and visit Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

Sometimes I have to remind myself that she just turned eight.

*J fans everywhere, rejoice! Jessica is going to start a blog while she’s on the road!

Audrey decided to show Roscoe how it’s done. She sashayed out around 9:00 last night, and didn’t show up again until 5:00 this morning. It was a full night’s work for Miss Audrey. And being so dedicated, she was out the door again before 7:00.

You can imagine that Audrey’s absence led to a restless night for her neurotic maid, partly from worry and partly because I find it hard to sleep with all the outside lights on, even with the help of sleep mask.

I was just dropping off to sleep when Luna started barking her head off and wouldn’t stop. I gave up on the whole sleep thing and went downstairs. As I passed my front door, I saw a bearded older man emerging from the woods near where Rose’s daughter Catrin and her boyfriend Zach live. So maybe there was a reason for Luna’s barking. When it gets to be a more decent hour, I’ll call them and see if they know who he is. I watched him walk down the driveway toward the road, so hopefully nothing is really amiss.

A slightly worrying morning when you live in a house with no locks.

And in the worrying department, Rob is once again slated for surgery on his neck. They are going to take out the old titanium piece and put in a new one from vertebrae C3-C6. Apparently these are not good vertebras to be messing with. Also, the surgical coordinator loftily told Megan on Tuesday that no surgery was being scheduled until September. Megan said that was too late, and suggested that the surgeon review Rob’s x-rays. The coordinator said they would and they’d call back in a week or ten days.

They called the next day with the operation date, two weeks away, and said it was “critical”. This was unnervingly like the time Rob went to the city to consult with the surgeon and was instantly admitted, the surgeon coming in to operate on Rob on Superbowl Sunday.

It looks like I will be able to take that week off – June 27 – and go with them to the city to help in any way I can. So much for the party I was planning for their 20th anniversary on July 1.

Update: Turns out the mystery man was Zach’s Dad. And Rob’s surgery has been moved to 10:00 am on Friday, June 24.

Roscoe and Clyde turned one year old yesterday! Can you believe it? It seems like just yesterday that I brought them home from the shelter.

They were so tiny:

Either they’ve gotten bigger, or their bed has gotten smaller:

I’m glad that they still cuddle up with each other and play together.

To celebrate the momentous occasion, everyone got fancy canned food. The rottens, to borrow my friend Amber’s affectionate name for her children, decided to dine al fresco. It was a lovely evening.

So lovely, in fact, that Roscoe refused to come in. So the rest of us had to go bed without him, leaving all the outside lights on and hoping for the best. He turned up just before 2:00 am, ready for a snack and a nap.

They grow up so fast!

Megan’s gorgeous nails, complete with flower. And no, they are not fake. Apparently she’s been asked that a lot.

And the pie she made me from the farmer’s market peaches:

Birthday cupcakes!

Rainy birthday to me! Again!

Megan and I braved the rain on my birthday eve to meander some errands. I am pleased to report that Scarlett, my slightly battered but unbowed red car, behaved just fine. Thanks once again to the boys!

We started out at the farmers’ market, where we got cherries and peaches as well as multi-grain bread and a bag of mixed lettuce. Next, Dr. Karen’s office, for Schatzi’s pain meds and oh so expensive Advantage for my cats. Then we picked up a mocha Megan-style (extra espresso) and poked around the seaside bookstore. I finally used part of a gift certificate I got for my birthday last year, buying An Invitation to Indian Cooking and a set of stationery. The fabulous and talented Lisa really inspired me to start sending real mail and postcards. Thanks, Lisa!

Then we were off to Charlottesville for the less enjoyable errands: groceries, human and pet, banking, etc. We had a little extra time before we were to meet Lu, Monica, and Crissy for Girls’ Night Out, so we stopped in at My Beautiful Nails and got our nails all beautiful. Since it was my birthday eve, and therefore a special occasion, I went crazy and got dark red nails instead of my usual pale ones:

I feel like a femme fatale from a noir movie. Megan got a French manicure with a little flower on each thumb, complete with teeny pink glitter centers. Wow. I’ll have to take a picture for you when I see her later today.

Freshly fabulous, we met up with the girls at the Wharf. Monica, being Monica, brought the cupcakes you see above, along with the cake stand. Only Monica! Or maybe Martha Stewart. She also gifted us with cards full of wildflower seeds (to be planted later), a drawing each from her talented husband Joe (you may remember him from my new carpet delivery last year), and a set of ready-made mini-cocktails apiece.

Monica and Lu also have June birthdays, so we’re thinking of having a Girls’ Night In at Lu’s place later this month, where we all sleep over and have drinks and giggle. As Lu said, “No driving, no dogs, and no boys!” It should be a blast.

Updates: The car is fixed! It seems to be working well. So far, so good. If it doesn’t rain – a fairly big “if” – Megan and I will test drive it to the farmers’ market this afternoon.

Also, A is now allowed home on weekends, though she spends the rest of her time at a rehab center. She still has no feeling in her feet and walks with two canes or a walker. She’s getting pretty impatient with the slowness of recovery, not surprising for a girl who’s spent the entire YEAR in hospitals. I still can’t believe it really happened, while being simultaneously relieved and delighted that she is still with us. Thanks to everyone for your support and caring.

And now, back to our (ir)regularly scheduled program….

While spring cleaning (sort of) a couple of weeks ago, I came across a treasure which I’d forgotten about. I’m not sure what you call it, but it’s from a Toronto streetcar, long ago. Back in the days when you had to crank a roll of fabric to the correct destination. Now that I think about it, I saw one – in better condition – selling for piles of loonies in a gallery not far from my old abode when I still lived in the T.

Anyway…it occurred to me that someone with a certain amount of talent and savoir fare – say, for example, Rob – might be able to find a way to display it in my current residence, curved walls and all. He rose to the challenge, as always, and here you see it in its new location:

Here’s the whole thing, in all its vintage glory:

I kind of like it that I have Toronto on one side of the room and San Francisco on the other – my own east and west coasts, as it were.

And speaking of Toronto: the jobette led to me to a website where I learned that my former home was the National Casket Company, and that it’s a heritage building. There are some great photos* of the building on the website, which is fun to browse, too.

And how, you are wondering, did the jobette in Charlottesville lead to my old place in Toronto? Here’s how. Someone emailed a request for brochures to be sent to a certain address in Toronto (which turned out to be in a posh neighborhood), but forgot their postal code. So I Googled it, and the link I clicked turned out to be a list of heritage buildings. I scrolled through it looking for Posh Street, and passed my old street on the way. Imagine my surprise when I saw it was in fact my old building.

Small world, isn’t it?

*If you look carefully at the photo with the CN Tower, you will see a little brown cottage. That’s where June and Audrey were born and their mother still lives.

It hasn’t all been rain and grumpiness and car trouble, though it is still raining and the car repair is still in progress.

Megan and Rob took care of some neighbors’ sheep and chickens last week, so naturally I had to go over and check out the place, especially since the sheep had just given birth. Two of the ladies had twins! Also, the oldest sheep, whose pregnancy was a surprise, gave birth the day before the neighbors left, to Megan’s great relief. No amount of ambulance experience can prepare you for barnyard births, especially complicated ones. Fortunately, all mothers and babies are fine, as you can see here:

When those little guys are hungry, they are determined! They butted their mothers’ bellies quite hard, but Megan says that makes the milk flow better. You can see one set of twins on the left:

The mothers were incredibly loud. I don’t know if they were saying “Get away from my babies” or “Give me some food” or “What the hell are you looking at?”, but it was surprising in volume. I tried to take a movie of them, and they immediately quietened down for their close-up, but you can hear some of it near the end. For some reason, I could post it on Facebook, but not here. Click to watch!

Steven Spielberg has nothing to fear.

It wasn’t all sheep, though. We stopped to nibble some strawberries – though carefully protected against birds, they were no match for us:

And the chickens were so pretty:

From the house, there’s a distant view of the ocean:

Though it’s hard to tell with the clouds and fog. You’ll just have to trust me.

Audrey woke me up at 4:00 this morning, demanding to go out in the pouring rain. She is the only one who greets a rainy morning with any kind of enthusiasm in my house. I held out for an hour, and then let her out into the cold wetness, deciding that I might as well admit that I’m up.

I have my regulation two sweaters on as well as the heater. Hard to believe it’s June. Last night on the news, they showed interviews with tourists in San Francisco who were horrified by the unseasonable (and unreasonable) weather. One guy pointed out with asperity that the guide book said the rain ended in late March or early April, “and now we are June.” Good point. An exasperated guy in a rain slicker, clutching his small son by the hand, exclaimed, “I hate it!” in a heavy accent. His kid burst into tears.

I couldn’t agree more.

Yesterday, Rob picked me up early and we made our way to Charlottesville for the car part. It occurred to me that we’re lucky we can get the part in Charlottesville, instead of having to spend 5 hours driving to Santa Rosa and back. Also the car parts store opens early and the people are nice.

Rob told them what we wanted, and, as almost always happens in this situation, they immediately started asking questions which were hard to answer. “Is the single-edged doobywhatsit? Or the dual cam whateveritis?” Rob and I exchanged looks. Finally, Rob looked at the part pictures and picked out what he thought was the right one. Then he dropped me off at work and went home to work on my car.

Four hundred newsletters later, he was back to pick me up and tell me that while it was the right part, he wasn’t done working on the car. Jonathan gets home about noon today, so maybe they can work on it together, rain willing. Sitting here in the rainy dark drinking black coffee and thinking dark thoughts, I hope that he put a tarp over the whole mess.

Megan should be here in about an hour, and I can drive her strange car to work in the pouring rain in about another hour. I don’t like driving at the best of times (and the best of times definitely do not include driving), and I really don’t like it in the rain or dark. Wish me (and the boys) luck. If all goes well, I should be driving my own car tomorrow. Hard to believe that’s the best case scenario.

Because nothing is too good for you, Faithful Reader, I have spared you the grumpy mood I’ve been in over the past few days. The unseasonably rainy weather did absolutely nothing to improve said mood.

Today it’s merely grey and depressing. For some reason, when you get a long weekend, it feels like you get an extra Sunday instead of an extra Saturday. I really should be getting ready for the week ahead instead of blogging about what a crabby little crab cake I am, but one of my few talents is the ability to complain about anything, any time, anywhere.

There was a break in the rain yesterday, replaced by cold winds which sent the windmill spinning and the clothes I hung outside to dry into various parts of the yard.

We decided to have Megan’s birthday barbecue anyway, huddled in our winter coats by the fire. We had sausages with fire roasted peppers, salad, and a cherry pie made from scratch by our brother. He even has an elegant stainless steel cherry pitter. Imagine.

Of all her presents, I think Megan’s favorite was a “city” or “traffic” leash, handmade by a local artisan. It’s about three feet long, and just the right length to get Star from the house to the car and back.

Speaking of cars: as soon as I pulled up at my brother’s yesterday, he came running over to see what on earth was wrong with my car. It did sound quite a lot like the Waltons’ truck, which was forever needing parts from Charlottesville. It turns out my car also needs a part from Charlottesville: a water pump. Apparently I was five or ten minutes away from the defective water pump destroying my engine. So I left the car there and hitched a ride home with Megan and Rob.

Of course, today is a holiday, so I won’t be able to get the part until sometime tomorrow. Jonathan works from Monday through Wednesday afternoon with no break, so hopefully Rob can install it or they can work on it together on Wednesday afternoon.

In the meantime, Megan goes to work tonight as usual (there are no holidays in the ER). She’ll drop the car off here at 7 am, I’ll drive it back where it just came from about an hour later, and return it to Megan in time for her to do the same in the evening. Poor little car. It’s a good thing we learned how to share all those years ago.

Well, this is getting to be a bad habit.

I woke up to rain on my sister’s birthday for the second year in a row. As I made coffee and the cats ran around outside, getting wet, spiky fur, I considered the fact that Megan once went to visit Dad in London on her birthday and it turned out to be the rainiest May and June in centuries.

Her ability to have rainy birthdays is only surpassed by her ability to get a taxi in any city at any time. London, Paris, Florence, New York – it doesn’t matter. I envied that talent when I was in the city last week. I was unable to get a cab on Market Street, which is basically San Francisco’s Main Street. I seem to have the opposite talent.

Megan took the day off. She should be arriving home any minute, so she’ll sleep through most of the rainy day. I’m planning to surprise her with birthday burritos and a bottle of wine when I get home from work this evening. Hopefully we can have a birthday barbecue this weekend.

Audrey peeking out from the side of the house

I think all the kitties were happy to see me, though I also think they are equally happy when I’m gone and they can scamper in and out of the house, playing and napping at will. Come to think of it, I’d like that.

When I adopted the boys, the shelter workers told me that they were very happy and affectionate kittens. I thought they were just saying that, but it has turned out to be true. They took turns sitting on my lap that evening and both slept with me (Audrey, of course, slept regally on her throne). And I’m glad that they all get along, whether I’m away or not. Audrey still isn’t their biggest fan, but there’s hardly any growling or swiping these days.

Here are the boys eating dinner after I got home:

I could see that Rob had been at work during my absence. He found these cupboards somewhere and installed them:

No easy task with the curved wall and heater, etc. to deal with.

After he put the cupboards up, he decided that it was too dark to see into the cupboards, which he also decided was unacceptable. The cowboy lamp, though fabulous, does not shed a lot of light.

He got a fixture at the thrift store for $2.50 and wired it into the same switch as the cowboy lamp. Let there be light:

Outside, I discovered that a little rose which I thought was dead was in bloom:

All in all, a nice welcome home.

On my last day in the city, I decided to stop in at the de Young museum to see the Balenciaga exhibit, after picking up cat food, a cinnamon doughnut from Bob’s, and pizza from Victor’s. All the necessities. Oh, and getting gas. At $4.39 a gallon (as opposed to the relatively low, low price of $4.13 in the Big Town).

One thing I really noticed on this trip was the San Francisco types you never see in Hooterville or environs. The groovy Asian teenagers, with their hip hair, trendy clothes and accessories, generally seen in packs. The wealthy, nipped and tucked mothers with the giant shades, tiny cell phones, and huge, expensive strollers occupied by squalling trophy babies. The Financial District guys, with their shiny, clacky shoes and optional suspenders (on weekends, they all wear the same long, khaki shorts with a polo shirt and baseball hats with no team logo on them).

And then there’s the rarest breed of all: the San Francisco Matron.

These grande society dames never venture from their Nob Hill penthouses without a flawless coiffure and a purse matching their glamorous shoes. They are slim and elegant to the core. They are real Ladies, and they are fabulous.

Many of them were in attendance at the equally fabulous Balenciaga exhibit, and as an inveterate and shameless eavesdropper, walking around with my $2 yard sale purse, I enjoyed the following gems:

Of the dress (far left) with the beautiful, “petal” front in black silk:

“After you wore it, you’d have to press it, wouldn’t you? How on earth would one press it?”

Of the sculptural rose pink gown wore by the gorgeous Ava Gardner (the back of the dress has a surprise bow, vertical rather than horizontal):

“Of course, she could wear anything, couldn’t she?”

I imagine her magnolia beauty would have been breathtaking in this dress.

Of the (in)famous “caterpillar” dress, designed when the master was in his 70s – if anything, he became more daring with age:

“This was his statement piece. He made beautiful things, but this…this was his statement to the world.”

Wonderful.

I loved these two. The velvet one on the right was worn by the delightful and sophisticated Kitty Carlisle Hart, the wife of Moss Hart. The one on the left was worn by the perennially fashionable Claudia de Osborne, who wished to be buried in a gown by her dear friend, whose clothes she wore for more than twenty years. Those are ermine tails on the back of the black velvet dress.

Here you can see his playing with texture, color, and wrapping:

And here you see his magnificent “Crown of Thorns” embroidered gown worn by the Best Dressed Hall of Famer (and subject of unflattering photos by Diane Arbus), Julia Henry:

It was time well spent. Not surprising, since the exhibit was curated by none other than Vogue’s very own Hamish Bowles*. I felt like Frederick the Mouse, storing up all that beauty.

As I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, I tossed a kiss to the city over my shoulder and set my eyes resolutely north.

I’ll be back.

*One of my very favorite Hamish Bowles articles was the one where he went to outdoor survival school. Do read it of you have the time – it’s hilarious.

View from my motel window

I thought I’d be blissfully blogging away while in the city, but I ended up doing a lot more work than I thought, and we all know work = no fun, and no fun = no blogging. Even the jobette has affected the number of my posts. Sometimes I ponder the fact that there is more to blog about when spending most of my time in Hooterville than in the Big Town.

Also, the interwebs at the modest motel have been capricious at best. Reception inside the room is spotty, so a few times a day I’d go and sit outside, where there was actual reception, to work and catch up on emails. The problem with this ploy is that you are in the way of the long-suffering cleaning staff and their giant carts. Also that people assume you are available for conversation, which means I know more about my temporary neighbors than I care to (i.e., the guy whose wife ejected him after 30 years of marriage and is now living here until he can find his own place) and have given directions to German and French tourists. I might as well be at the jobette, as far as that goes.

As I write, it’s foggy both outside and in. I actually threw on clothes and staggered two blocks to Notes from Underground to get some much-needed coffee. I am now drinking it and considering what to do with the rest of my day, besides Extreme Takeout.

I still haven’t been to the art museums, though I did find time to stock up on some dog supplies for my sis. Surprisingly, two kongs cost about the same as a fifteen pound bag of fancy Taste of the Wild dog food, which got heavier each block as I lugged it back to the motel. I might go back there and get some kitty food, though, since all pet food is significantly cheaper than it is in Hooterville.

I also fit in some power shopping, as my neighbor J puts it. It was nice to walk down the familiar downtown streets in the sunlight. Whenever I’m here, I feel lucky that I know the city so well and that it’s only a few hours’ drive from Hooterville, so it’s kind of in my backyard, unlike the German and French tourists.

It’s been great to be here, but I’m ready to go home and see the kitties, who have apparently not missed me in the slightest. Megan went by each morning when she came home from work, and all they wanted was to go out. The weather has been nice, so she left the door open all day until Rob went over at night to feed them and shut them safely in the house. I imagine Audrey has not been enjoying that.

Our bees

Last week was busy, but between the job, the jobette, and a couple of writing gigs, I still managed to have some fun.

Megan and I attended a meeting of local beekeepers at the library one evening. The group meets once a month, though this was my first time, and they had a guest speaker, the well-known beekeeper Serge Labesque. It was a pleasure to listen to him and learn, as well as ask questions. It was two hours well spent.

From what Serge said, I’m guessing that we should divide our hive soon, or the bees will do it themselves. There’s been a lot of activity in the hive and there are definitely a lot more bees than there were last winter. I’m glad they made it through the winter and that we chose not to treat them for mites, especially after learning from Serge that the bees groom each other to get rid of them.

On Friday, Megan and I met Monica at the Wharf for drinks* and dinner. Here’s my delicious pomegranate margarita:

And the view from the table:

Between Monica growing up here and Megan being on the ambulance for so long and now working at the hospital, a lot of people they knew came in and there was a fair bit of table-hopping and catching up as the sun began to dip low over the ocean.

As we drove down the Ridge, the trees were suffused in a rosy glow, and I realized that living here has made me see the beauty in spider webs, plants making their tentative way through the earth, and other humble, every day miracles.

This week looks to be busy, too, with deadlines looming as well as a trip to the city. I’m leaving after work tomorrow and staying until Friday. So the next time you hear from me should be from the dreaming spires of San Francisco instead of the sleepy woods of Hooterville.

*Whenever we go on a girls’ night out (and when we went to see the SATC movie sequel), I always wear my mother’s bracelets, so she can be there, too.

No, not that kind (though how ’bout those Sharks?) – the yard sale kind.

I headed off down the Ridge on this grey morning to check out a local yard sale. I have been filled with envy ever since one of the guys at the jobette told me that he got a table, umbrella, and four chairs for $25 at a yard sale a couple of weeks ago. He was walking his dog and just happened on the sale, and they let him buy it, even though they weren’t officially open yet. That kind of thing never happens to me, but I haven’t given up hope that one day I’ll find something equally great.

I saw on the listserv (which is full of useful information, such as bear sightings, as well as intra-village bickering under the guise of “discussions”) that there was an “estate sale” just a few miles down the road. With visions of patio sets dancing in my head, I set off.

It was a long-ish walk after parking the car, and there were a surprising number of houses down this road. I finally arrived at the gate, which was a little passive-aggressive, I thought:

You have the festive balloons, but there are the scary “Beware of Dog” signs, and the gate was barely cracked open. I wasn’t sure if I was in the right place until I ventured through it, bewaring of dog as I went. The admonishments continued once I was inside the house:

Everyone seemed to be obeying this one, including Self.

I didn’t find a patio set, but I did find a lovely red handbag to add to the Suzy collection for a mere $2:

Also a delightful wall lamp:

which two people tried to buy after I had already paid for it. Score! Of course, it has to be wired into the wall, but I have Rob the secret weapon on my side. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that I have a new project for him.

Or maybe not.

On the trek back to the car, I noticed a fire hydrant in the middle of the woods:

That’s a new one on me.

Update:

Rob already put the lamp up for me. And it looks more fabulous than I ever imagined:

Burn, baby, burn

Well, I’m afraid that I have officially gone to (hay)seed.

First, I lost my ability to talk on a cellphone in traffic or deal with the sights and sounds of homeless people (how did I ever take all that sadness in stride, all those years I lived in the city?). Last night, I was woken by crashing and thudding noises. I lay in bed and listened for a while, and eventually decided that it was the kittens chasing a mouse. Instead of being horrified by a rodent hunt in my house, I just turned over, thought, “At least it’s not a bear in the garbage”, and went back to sleep.

When I got up, the boys were still on mouse patrol. Before I finished my coffee, they had caught the poor little beast and were running around with it. I just shooed them outside. The only squeaking was the mouse’s. Can you believe it?

Later, Mark came by and took away some things and stuff which were hanging around outside my house, including old hunks of wood and the former buffet from Rose’s funeral fiesta. Removing the wood revealed slugs, termites, a couple of scorpions, and a baby snake, none of which made me squeal in horror. Even the spiders in the house have ceased to dismay me, though their webs have not. I’ve come a long way, baby!

I found this table a few weeks ago. After sanding and varathaning, it looks pretty good. The outside living space is slowly coming together:

I’m multi-tasking today by burning miscellaneous junk (see above), a very country pursuit, while listening to the Giants game and doing some research for a couple of stories I’m writing. We’re running out of burn days, so it seemed like a good time to do it.

But don’t worry. I still have my Vogue subscription and do my modest best to keep Sephora happy and healthy. I’m also planning to go to the city next week and see the Balenciaga exhibit, so I haven’t completely lost my glamor-loving side. Can I be country chic instead of city fabulous?