Suzy Says

Meet the boys!

Well, the Evil Eighteenth was harder for me this year than it has been in a while. Grief is a strange thing. It can be nine years since you lost someone, and you can feel just as terrible as when you first got the news.

It’s probably because I lost both Henry Etta and June over such a short period of time this year, and my emotions were pretty raw. June’s death was as senseless and sudden as Dad’s was, and I think it reawakened a lot of those feelings.

It took some time to work through them. Fortunately, work has been very busy lately, which is great, since it occupies the surface of my mind (and in my case, surface is pretty much all there is) and helped me get through the days.

While I was busy working, the local Animal Care and Control was busy shutting down. In their infinite wisdom, the authorities decided to move everything to the county seat, a two hour drive away, for those who have a car. That means there’s no-one here to take care of lost or stray animals, or to deal with animal cruelty cases. Not to mention the loss of local jobs.

With the closure of the ACC shelter, the remaining Humane Society shelter was overwhelmed. They had more kittens than they knew what to do with, and I thought Audrey might like some company, so I went to see them with the intention of window-shopping. But I was taken with two little black kittens, who snuggled under my chin and purred so loudly that I thought the neighbors might complain.

The shelter worker told me that no-one wanted the black kittens, so they were two for the price of one. One of the kittens jammed his purring nose into my ear, and I knew I had two new family members.

As I filled out the paperwork, the kittens’ mother was being adopted! The shelter workers said that she was a wonderful mother, and that the kittens were the happiest and most affectionate they could remember having.

It soon became apparent that they shared Audrey’s distaste (and mine, for that matter) for traveling by car, and used the same method of expressing it. As soon as I got them home, I had to bathe them in the sink and apply Nature’s Miracle to the car’s upholstery. I might have to burn the carrier they came in.

Amazingly, they purred through the baths and were notably less upset by their sudden wetness than they were by the car ride. Here you see one of them asleep in the towel:

He looks a lot like a bat.

Audrey was not impressed with her bargain basement roommates. Here you see her giving them the stink eye:

Also, she is now making up for all the hissing and growling she didn’t do when Henry Etta moved in. But June and Audrey have always been great at adapting to circumstances, and they’ve been through so much in their lives, so I’m hoping that in time, she’ll accept them and maybe even like them. In the meantime, she can teach them how to be a wonderful cat.

By the way: I’m open to suggestions for names for these little boys!

People complain these days, and maybe rightly, about the downside of social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, but there are good things about it, too.

Just this morning, I learned the following on Facebook:

• A friend and his girlfriend became first-time parents;
• A friend’s beloved only brother returned safely home from serving in Afghanistan;
• A friend’s sister had successful surgery for cancer, with a very positive outlook for the future;
• A friend arrived safely in his native country, to which he is returning after many years abroad, and where he and his long-time partner are building a new home and new life together.

That’s a lot of good news for one day, from all over the world. Way to start Friday the 13th!

Meanwhile, back in Suzy world…

I’m getting swampéed with emails from money managers. One of the trade rags published an article saying that one of our clients might possibly be looking for a new money manager sometime, maybe, and listed my name and email address. Après moi, le déluge. Also, they all seemed to miss the fact that it’s only a possibility, and may or may not happen. No matter how many I answer, there are still more. It’s the Sorcerer’s Apprentice of email!

To escape my inbox, I went to town yesterday. It was still pretty early, thanks to Audrey and the still-invisible mouse, so the Safeway was delightfully unpopulated. You would be surprised by how busy it usually is, considering the town only has 5,000 residents.

I was trying vainly to reach something on an upper shelf, and someone actually came over and helped me. Imagine. I have to admit that I’m not above being a helpless girl when it suits my purposes. I might as well enjoy it, since my cuteness has a rapidly-approaching expiration date of its own.

When I got in line, there was only one person ahead of me. Behind me there was a pushy broad with a giant bottle of Pepsi. Why she didn’t use the express lane, which was wide open and unpopulated at that early hour, is beyond me. Same goes for why she kept shoving her cart into me, including when I was trying to pay for my hard-won groceries. I get extra credit for not saying a thing.

On the way home, I stopped in to see my brother. I had a bunch of mail for him – we all share one mailbox – and I wanted to see how the water heater replacement was coming along. Slowly, it turned out, but hopefully he’ll get it fixed soon. While I was there, I visited Henry, who is sleeping peacefully under her tree, and checked on the bees.

I could see where the phrase “busy as a bee” comes from*, since the bees were very active. You should have heard the happy humming coming from the hive! The returning bees were so loaded down with pollen that they could hardly fly. My brother has given them a little bucket of water with a screen in it, so they can drink without drowning. They seem to be thriving. Now all we have to do is decide how to treat them to prevent mites this winter: the organic way, or the chemical way. We’re leaning toward organic. Though we may lose more, the ones that survive will be stronger. Darwinism in our own backyard.

*Turns out it’s Chaucer! So it’s a very old phrase. I guess bees haven’t changed their ways much over the past 700 years.

Spot the Audrey!

Here you see Audrey perched on the bureau in the sleeping loft. She has the opposite of acrophobia. She has love of heights. Only an empty box makes her happier than being as high up as possible. She must enjoy looking down on me.

I heard her racketing around downstairs this morning at about 5:00. I came down to investigate, and discovered her chasing a mouse. I screamed and fled in the traditional girl manner, retreating to my bed. Needless to say, I was unable to sleep, so I just got up again about twenty minutes later.

The intruder was nowhere to be seen. I put on three lights in the living room, instead of my usual one, and am now looking around in horror, trying to decide whether it would be worse to find a live mouse or a dead one. Audrey is acting like nothing ever happened, waiting for it to be light enough to be allowed outside, whereas I am so nervous that coffee is probably superfluous at this point.

It’s probably a good time to resume the laundry project interrupted by the Back Débâcle this weekend. It seems to have recovered, but I’m being extra-careful and trying to remember to lift with my legs, not my back. It’s astonishing how many times a girl bends in a day. You only notice it when you can’t do it. When I was taking care of Megan after her knee surgery, I felt like I was flaunting my bendiness around her. Maybe this is karma?

I was walking by my front door this morning when I glanced outside and noticed Schatzi. I went outside, and before I could even pet her, she was joined by the always bouncy Star. I don’t think anyone has ever been as happy to see me as that dog is, even though I don’t live with her or feed her or anything. She can’t stop jumping on me and kissing me. Maybe Megan should keep her, just for my ego’s sake.

With the dogs prancing around me, I returned them to Megan’s house. On the way, I regretted wearing my amethyst velvet slippers and kitty PJs, since the huckleberry bushes were soaked with dew, or fog, or both.

Will I ever have appropriate country footwear on for any occasion?

After I delivered the dogs, I went back home and got back to work. I had a conference call with my far-flung co-workers, and during the call I pondered the fact that I will wear my PJs during team calls, but not when I’m talking to anyone outside the firm. Even though no-one can see me.

Go figure.

Fortunately, I was dressed when the sheriff showed up. I heard a car pull up and then a knock at the door. No-one ever knocks around here, from dogs to people, so I knew it would be a stranger. I didn’t expect it to be law enforcement, asking for my sister. She was in town getting physio, and I couldn’t reach her by cell phone, so I asked him if I could help.

He said that Megan is a witness in an animal cruelty case, and he has to give her the paperwork in person. I took his phone number and he went on his way. It’s surprising how unnerving a visit from the Law can be, even when they look about 18* and you are, relatively speaking, law-abiding.

Later, I was talking on the phone to Erica, about the kinds of things girls do (school; kids; the power of cleavage) when I saw my brother’s car pull up. I don’t see him as often as you’d think, mostly because of his hectic schedule of working and being a firefighter, so it was a nice surprise. He borrowed a couple of movies and headed home to get some much-needed rest.

He spent 26 straight hours looking for the missing woman over the weekend, and when he got home from that, discovered that his hot water heater had exploded, drenching all his camping gear. My brother used to be a serious camper, even camping in the Sierras in the winter, so his gear is good and was quite an investment. He was able to hang it out to dry, but now he’s living (hopefully temporarily) without hot water. No good deed goes unpunished!

*His obvious youth reminded me of how my father used to say “The bottles get smaller and smaller, and the policemen look like little boys.” I now realize that he was not, in fact, kidding.

Notice anything different?

While I was marooned on the couch with my backache this weekend, Mark and a friend of his put a window in my house! It sheds some much-needed light on the studio and the many things which still need to be organized and put away in there. One good thing about being incapacitated is you have a great excuse not to do anything. On the other hand, all that laundry and tidying is just waiting there for me when I feel better.

Time is not on my side.

While the window was being installed, my brother and his fellow firefighters were searching for an elderly woman who went missing while walking her dog. She suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, and this is not the first time she has wandered off. I have to say I was surprised by the hue and cry, though. The local search and rescue personnel were supplemented by local civilians and officials from outside the county.

Helicopters barely skimmed the tops of the trees, and it sounded like a war zone out there. Or Oakland. You’d think they were looking for the Lindbergh baby.

I’m pleased to report that both the woman and her dog were found after two days of searching, alive and as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

Never a dull moment around here!

Note to Self: housework is very bad for you, and should be avoided at all costs. A cleaning lady is a perfectly legitimate healthcare expense in your case.

On Saturday, I waxed the floor in a bout of temporary insanity. I knew that it would still look semi-bad, since it desperately needs refinishing, and, like everywhere else in the house, sports splotches of paint from previous bad paint jobs. One of the more depressing aspects of attempting to clean my hippie hovel is that you can work on it for hours and it still looks crappy. Whether it’s painting or cleaning, the result is never better than slightly less crappy.

I knew all this, and yet, I persisted in waxing the floor.

On Sunday, I went to do some laundry, and carelessly bent over to pick up the basket. I soon discovered that:

a. I couldn’t stand back up again; and
2. It hurt like hell.

Abandoning the laundry project, I hobbled swearingly to the phone and called a medic. As you do.

My sister hobbled over with drugs and settled me on the couch with the heating pad. You know you’re pathetic when your sister has to crutch over to take care of you. I guess it was my turn, after taking care of her for the past couple of weeks, but still. Also the irony is not lost on me that I managed to mess myself up almost immediately following getting a clean-ish and expensive-ish bill of health from the clinic.

As I write, a postcard and its magnet have fallen off the face of the refrigerator, and are lying on my waxed floor, mocking me. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t pick them up. But I can’t stop looking at them, either.

Yesterday, the shower only turned icy cold twice. And I wasn’t shaving my armpits or trying to rinse off conditioner (a near-impossible feat in cold water), so, you know, score!

As I stood away from the frigid trickle, choosing the cold air over the cold water, I tried not to think about all the water I was wasting waiting for it to get warm again, and instead wondered what the hell was up with it. This has been a problem ever since Mark overhauled the water system on the property. I mentioned it to him, and he said to call him when it happens. But even if I had a phone in my bathroom, I think I’d refrain for both our sakes.

Megan, Rob, the dogs and I carpooled greenly to town as my hair dried. I felt like a kid in the back seat, while Megan and Rob discussed car repairs and other grown-up topics in the front seat. Even though I’m older than they are. Schatzi curled up in her dainty fashion, while Star took up most of the seat and sprawled all over me. She is under the illusion that she is a lap dog. Also, I think the person who comes up with a way to train dogs not to lick you all the time would make a million billion dollars.

Megan and I checked out the local pool, which is new and fancy. It even has a bathing suit wringing machine in the ladies’ locker room. How’s that for modern science? Their pricing info runs to two pages, so I will have to study it carefully before I can figure out if I can afford it or not.

Although the library emailed me yesterday to tell me that I have several items waiting for me there, they were closed at the time, so I couldn’t pick them up. I imagine my annoyance at this is equalled by the librarians’, who have Friday and Monday off, but not Saturday.

Megan dropped Rob off and then me, while she went to hang out with Monica and talk about dogs. I unfortunately had to have a check-up, which meant wasting valuable hours of what’s left of my life, first in a waiting room equipped with hunting and fishing magazines, along with “American Cheerleader” (“Your best pep rally ever!”), which failed to cheer me in the slightest, and then in a hot little examining room. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wear one of those dignity-destroying little people wrappers.

One of my many high school boyfriends* had a father who was a doctor, and he told me that however many exam rooms they have is how many patients they book for that time, hence the endless waits at the doctor’s office. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I certainly had enough time to consider that and how you truly realize how downwardly mobile you are when you have to go to a clinic with all the other uninsured dregs of society. I looked back on my days of doctors, dentists and specialists with elegant offices and glossy magazines in their tasteful San Francisco waiting rooms and could barely hold back the tears.

One thing I have learned the hard and expensive way is that when you don’t have money, that means you have to pay more. Can’t pay the entire, enormous Amerigas bill? You get to pay additional service charges as you pay it off! Don’t have health insurance and can’t afford to get any? You get to pay $70 for sitting around the clinic surrounded by howling babies and homeless people. Yay! Because you make too much money to get a discount. You make too much money for anything like that, though mysteriously, not enough to pay all your bills and rent. Just another of life’s bitter little mysteries.

*I may have taken him to the curb prematurely. His parents had two Rolls Royces and invitations to every coronation from Queen Victoria onward. Also, he now works at NBC-Universal in London.

I seem to have been assigning myself a lot of dessert homework lately, for some reason. It might be the advent of the Official Month of Death, since its arrival often seems to send me into a cooking frenzy.

I got some rhubarb and strawberries at the farmers’ market, so naturally it was time to make…

Rhubarb and Berry Crumble
With thanks to Jacques Pépin

3/4 lb rhubarb, cut into 2 inch pieces (about 3 cups) [Note: I cut it smaller]
3/4 lb strawberries, hulled and sliced (about 2 & 1/2 cups)
1/2 cup sugar
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup granola
5 tablespoons butter, room temperature

Heat the oven to 400 degrees.

Once again, Jacques wants you to mix things in a separate bowl before putting them in the casserole. Since I don’t have minions on staff to wash dishes (or a dishwasher, for that matter), I just mixed everything in the baking dish. He also wants you to add 24 fresh spearmint or peppermint leaves, but it sounds weird to me. If it sounds good to you, though, have at it and let me know how it turns out.

Another thing Jacques and I disagree on is the amount of sugar in the fruit and the granola. I think the rhubarb needs more than 1/4 cup of sugar, and the granola doesn’t need any. But he says to divide the sugar between the fruit and the granola. I put 1/3 cup sugar in the fruit and left the granola alone.

Anyway….

Mix the fruit with the sugar, two tablespoons of the flour and mint leaves if that’s your thing. Place in a baking dish.

Mix the granola with sugar, if you’re using it, the other two tablespoons of flour, and the butter until crumbly. I added a handful of chopped pecans. Sprinkle over the fruit and bake for about 35 minutes, or until the fruit is bubbling and the topping is browned. Jacques wants you to serve it with sour cream or crème fraîche. If you aren’t as selective* as I am about dairy products, you might like it Jacques-style, too.

*Basically, it’s butter and some kinds of cheese and that’s it.

The mostly dead wisteria vine

And today, on Wild Kingdom…

When I took the coffeepot out to fill it with water, a little moth fluttered in. I had to persuade it to leave. If it had stayed, it probably could have flown to the moon unaided, since the coffee I made was totally atomic. I accidentally bought ground coffee, and was unwilling to drive for over an hour to correct the error. Unfortunately, it has been so long since I dealt with pre-ground coffee that I have no idea how much to put in the filter. Nor am I inclined to overthink this in a pre-caffeinated state.

My usual MO is to fill up my trusty coffee grinder with beans. However much that is turns out to be the exact right amount, as is so often the case when I cook. Half an onion? Exactly what I needed! Some leftover cilantro? The perfect addition to burritos! However, this was not the case with the ground coffee. A coffee grinder full is too much. The coffee was so strong that I actually had to water it down, making my very own, teeny little Americano.

While I was still waking up, Star came bursting through the front door, left open for my and Audrey’s mutual convenience. She raced across the room, kissed my surprised nose, and then jumped up on the couch next to me and curled up, settling in as if she lived here. It was super cute, and took less time to happen than for you to read about it.

Then the phone rang. You know how parents always ruin your fun. They came and got her before we had a chance to do each other’s nails.

After Star went home, I went to feed Audrey, only to see a lizard scuttling under the washing machine. I thoughtfully left the door open for him, considering not for the first time how blurred the line is between indoors and outdoors here. In fact, there may well be no line at all.

It turned out that Audrey was otherwise occupied anyway. She came trotting into the yard outside the sliding glass doors with a snake writhing in her mouth. I know that the snakes around here are harmless, but that doesn’t make them any less gross, or unwelcome in my house, whether alive and sliming or dead and flaccid. She played with it for a while, and then got bored and went to do something else.

It wasn’t just to keep the snake where it belonged that I shut the sliding glass doors. Really. It was because of the hummingbird which was feeding off the honeysuckle right outside them. He kept buzzing perilously near the open door, and I don’t know about you, but I didn’t want to try and catch something that can fly 30 mph (and dive at 60). It was fun to watch him zooming around and hovering, though.

Later, I caught myself brushing a spiderweb* off the (mostly) dead wisteria outside and wondered if the crazy gene has finally caught up with me. Megan and Rob both assure me that it’s not really dead and there’s new growth coming along, but it sure looks dead to me. I’d like to get a cutting of the jasmine that covers part of their house and train it up the dead(ish) vine. Imagine how great the honeysuckle and jasmine would smell together!

*Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just gave up on my constant spiderweb removal. How long would it take until this looked like the Addams’ Family’s vacation home?

Remember the great driveway project?

Looks like it’s finally complete.

Today, a giant blue truck came rumbling down the dusty driveway, merrily snapping the power line and depositing gravel as it went. Mark temporarily fixed the electrical line, which was draped precariously from my house into the trees, as a tractor came by to smooth out the gravel:

Here’s a “before” picture:

And here’s the “after”:

It looks nice, doesn’t it? I’m so glad that the crazy potholes, leaking water pipes, summer puff dust (which coats the inside and outside of your car) and winter mud are all a thing of the past.

While reading in bed this morning (the spooky and engrossing The Little Stranger, by Sarah Waters), it occurred to me that I have quite nice views from the comfort of my bed. Let’s see if you agree:

The skylight at the foot of my bed. Ironically, the sunlight pouring through it makes the room look dark in the picture, though not in real life. Go figure.

Looking to the right from my bed. The skylight is at the far left of the picture. The sleeping loft looks down on the living area.

The door to the balcony at the front of the house is to the left.

Not a bad place to be on a sunny Sunday morning.

Seems like everyone in California is complaining about the weather, except Me. The media should really be alerted to that important factoid, since it’s practically unheard-of, no matter what the season. While everyone else bewails the fog, I just smile and think how glad I am that I’m not sweltering back east. I enjoy being lightly chilled, like a fine Chablis, almost as much as, well, a fine Chablis.

Having said that, though, summer is the time to go on vacation, or, in my case, daydream about going on vacation. Surprisingly, when I made up a list of places I’d like to go, many were right here in the Golden State. These are all places I’ve never been.

Bodie: The best-preserved ghost town in the state, and possibly the country, Bodie is also subject to extreme temperatures, with winter lows dipping to 0°F, with winds up 100 mph, and summer temperatures in the 90s. I read an article about the town’s lone ranger/caretaker, and it has to be one of the loneliest jobs around.

Burlesque Hall of Fame: I’ve always been fascinated by the golden era of burlesque. Famed dancer Jennie Lee established the Burlesque Hall of Fame in the Mojave Desert to showcase her collection of burlesque memorabilia and costumes. After her death, the equally famed Dixie Evans took over, and the museum is now being moved to Las Vegas. The annual Miss Exotic World Pageant is held every year on or near my birthday – what a gift that would be!

Chandelier Drive-Through Tree is less than an hour’s drive from town. When you get there, you can, as the name suggests, drive through a giant sequoia. Because Nature is much better seen from inside. I could probably combine this with a trip to the Lost Coast (see below).

Hearst Castle: Shockingly, I have never visited one of the Suzy-est places in the state, though Megan has. Even she was impressed.

Hotel del Coronado: Where “Some Like It Hot” was filmed, this Victorian confection has been restored to its Marilyn-era glory. Not to mention being conveniently close to Catalina Island, where you can take a glass-bottom boat* to admire reefs, shipwrecks, and sea life. Catalina is also home to plants and animals found nowhere else on Earth. Bonus Marilyn connection: she and her first husband, Jim Dougherty, once lived on the island.

The Lost Coast: I really have no excuse not to do this one, since it starts about an hour’s drive north of town. This is an exceptionally unspoiled and scenic part of the state, and the only part of it not served by a state highway. We could just hook up a little red teardrop trailer and take off!

Palm Springs: Of course, the best way to tour the fabulous mid-century architecture of Palm Springs would be renting Frank Sinatra’s old pad, at a mere $2,600 a night. You can also tour Elvis and Priscilla’s wildly futuristic honeymoon house.

Santa Cruz Mystery Spot: Supposedly a place where the laws of physics and gravity don’t apply (what girl doesn’t love that?), compasses and GPS devices don’t work there, and no animals, even birds, live within the Mystery Spot. I love it that there are still places, things, and phenomena that can’t be explained away by science. Even if they can, it’s still fun to see a ball roll up hill.

Winchester Mystery House: Home of the famous gunsmiths, the last Winchester owner was Sarah, who was convinced that if she never stopped building onto her house, she wouldn’t die. Her bid for immortality failed, but her architectural legacy lives on in San Jose, where her 160 room mansion boasts stairs to nowhere and doors and windows that open onto blank walls.

Places I’d like to re-visit include Bodega Bay, where we used to spend Christmases with Dad (and I think a movie was filmed there once); Monterey Bay and its incredible aquarium; LA, which I’m supposed to despise but don’t; and Lake Tahoe. Megan and I have a fantasy about spending Christmas there with the snow. Isn’t it amazing that you can drive a few hours and be where the snow is, but not have to live with it all winter?

I always say California has everything: the ocean, lakes, rivers, mountains, deserts, ancient forests, snow, sunshine, you name it. And that’s not even including the man-made wonders. Why don’t you come up sometime, and see me?

*Parts of the Doris Day movie of the same name were filmed there. I happen to love Doris Day movies, especially “Pillow Talk” and “That Touch of Mink”.

Proof, if any were needed, that sloth always wins out with me:

It’s about 47 foggy degrees outside, and about 55 inside. I’m wearing my morning sweater and waiting for coffee to brew, but I have the sliding glass doors slightly open, and the front door, too. Why? Because I let Audrey out at 6:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep, and I know that as soon as I get comfortable, she’ll be asking to be let in one door and out the other, so I’d rather just leave the doors open than resume doorman duty.

See? Sloth over comfort!

Part of the reason I couldn’t get back to sleep was that Audrey woke me up from a dream about June Bug. In my dream, Audrey clawing at the door to go out in real life was June clawing at the door to come in. I could see her beautiful fur through the glass panes of the door, and it all seemed so real. As usual in dreamland, it was all a big mistake. I lay there for a while, regretting my stupidity for the zillionth time, and then decided I might as well get up and get on with the day.

I can see that it’s going to be sunny here pretty soon. If I can get my work done in time for the narrow window that the farmers’ market is open, my non-slothful sis and I will venture out together for the first time in two weeks. I’m pleased to report that she drove the hour and a half home from Willits with no adverse effects, so she’s definitely on the mend. The surgeon has to sign off on her being ready to go back to work, so it looks like she’ll be back at work in early September, with lots to tell the class about what she did on her summer vacation.

Pie du jour

I seem to have been on a pie kick lately. This one was mostly because I had a big box of blueberries to use up before they went bad. I got some peaches and more Crisco and voilà! I have never made a blueberry peach pie before, so we’ll see how it tastes. At least it looks good.

While the pie was baking, I made a casserole for dinner in our long-lost Thursday tradition. Basically, it’s a Mexican-esque lasagna.Today Megan and Rob went to Willits so he could see the eye doctor, and after that, Meg is getting the finishing touches on her root canal/crown. Those crazy kids really know how to have fun!

Turkey Enchilada Casserole

1 pound ground turkey
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed and minced (or more, to taste)
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained (sometimes I use leftover refried beans)
1 can red enchilada sauce (I used mild*)
12 corn tortillas (if you use flour tortillas, they’ll get mushy)
2 cups shredded cheese (I used sharp cheddar)
Chopped cilantro for garnish

Sauté the turkey with the garlic and onion until thoroughly cooked. Stir in the enchilada sauce and cumin.

Meanwhile, cut tortillas in half. Spoon enchilada sauce into a casserole dish (the one I used was my parents’ and it’s actually older than I am. I love that!), sprinkle with beans and cheese, then arrange tortilla halves on top, overlapping to fit. Repeat until you’ve used everything up, ending with sauce and cheese on top.

Bake in a 400° oven until cheese is melted and casserole is hot in the center, 20 to 30 minutes. Sprinkle with chopped cilantro and enjoy!

*Because food should really come in hot, medium, mild, and Suzy.

Somehow, I had failed to realize that Megan wouldn’t really have the use of her hands as well as her legs after the knee surgery. She can crutch around, but you can’t really make dinner or do much of anything when your hands are occupied with crutches. So she did need more help than you’d think, especially in the first few days.

So it was good she had her sister around to wash dishes, make dinner, fluff up the bed and make it, and other things that need hands.

Now she can get around on one crutch. She hasn’t taken painkillers for four days now, which is where we have a philosophical parting of the ways. She dislikes the effects of the medication more than the pain, whereas I, as you remember, was horribly disappointed that the pills were not, as advertised, a sort of pain eraser. “Stoic” has never been used to describe me.

She’s still applying Motrin and ice to the wounded area, but I practically had to restrain her from driving after Jonathan and Rob worked on her car, and she keeps saying she can take the dogs for a short walk. She may be one of the few people who can’t wait to get back to work. She really did not inherit any of the sloth gene. I think I got it all.

While she’s been laid up, her boss has called to check in on her a couple of times, as well as her co-workers and her former colleagues. It’s nice to be loved!

Today Rob is driving her to physiotherapy, in the hopes that it will accelerate her recovery. She’s due to go back to work in about a month, but I think it can’t be soon enough for her.

Pink is for girls…and my sister’s rat-tail cactus

…at the All Girl Multiplex…

Actually, it’s a single screen, but most of the movies are rated NB17 (no boys). Rob came home while we were watching “Working Girl” and literally fled. Suddenly, it seemed like an excellent time to water the garden!

To be fair, we did watch all the Harry Potter movies, too, which are very boy-friendly with whizzo-zappo effects and Quidditch games, which are also an excuse for the previously mentioned w-z effects. I had only seen the first one when it came out at the theater, so the others were new to me. I’d read all the books, but have an amazing ability to forget things, so I got to be surprised a few times, as well as marvelling at the kids’ terrible haircuts and still wondering why they didn’t give Harry green eyes when they made such a big deal about it in the books.

But after the Harry Potter movies were exhausted (cheer up, Part One of the Deathly Hallows is due out in November, and the second half next year), we pretty much lapsed into utter girldom, watching the following:

How to Make an American Quilt An all-star cast (Anne Bancroft, Ellen Burstyn, Maya Angelou and more) of women tell their life stories as they make a wedding quilt for a girl (Wynona Ryder in her pre-shoplifting days) who isn’t quite sure she wants to get married. We got so involved in the stories of the past that we kind of forgot about the movie’s present. As usual, the past was more interesting.

We both screamed in horror at one scene, where Ryder wraps herself in the newly-completed quilt and walks outside, dragging it in the dirt. User reviews on IMDB confirm that we aren’t the only ones.

Wish I had that quilt. Or one like it.

13 Going on 30 Jennifer Garner is charming in this light little romp about a gawky girl whose disastrous thirteenth birthday party leads to a heartfelt wish to be thirty (if only she knew that the wait is much shorter than you’d think, or even like). She wakes up in a fabulous New York apartment and discovers that she’s thirty, dating an NHL player and is an editor at her favorite fashion magazine. But things aren’t what they seem. Garner is charming, and the movie is fun, light-weight fluff.

27 Dresses Megan’s a big “Grey’s Anatomy” fan, though I’ve never actually seen a whole episode, so it was a bonus for her to see Katherine Heigl as the movie’s heroine. She’s been a bridesmaid 27 times, but never a bride, mostly because she is secretly in love with her magazine editor boss. Her sister comes to town and immediately enchants the boss, and the “commitments” writer for the local paper covers her upcoming wedding and her sister’s bridesmaid past a little too honestly…

As for Working Girl, it was more fun than I remembered, despite the appalling theme song which plays over the opening credits and almost ruins the spectacular shots of the New York skyline*. We laughed a lot, and those 1980s clothes and make-up are hilarious. Harrison Ford looks so young in it that it makes me feel old.

*Meg observed that now we always look for the Twin Towers, whereas before they were just part of the landscape, and not a very pretty part at that. We can never go back, I guess.

Cherry pie moderne

The truth is that I was running out of Crisco and didn’t really have enough dough to make the traditional lattice. I like how this looks, though. And it tasted pretty good, too.

I hate running out of things. I was like that before I moved to Hooterville, where running out of things is much more serious than it is in the city. It’s more than five miles to the nearest store, and it closes at 7:00, so if you’re out of butter or wine or some other essential at 7:05, you’re also out of luck unless your sister happens to have some.

Between us, Megan and I can come up with the ingredients for most things, since she also hates running out of things and we tend to keep our pantries pretty well stocked. And Dad instilled in both of us a horror of wasting food.

Yesterday, we made one of our favorites, ribollita soup. Despite being virtuous to an almost obnoxious degree, being cheap, easy to make, and good for you, it is delicious.

Ribollita Soup

About 3 tbsp. olive oil, divided
1/2 onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced (we used four)
2 medium carrots, chopped into 1/2-in. pieces
2 celery stalks, chopped into 1-in. pieces
1 1/2 qts. chicken broth
1 can (15 oz.) cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
4 whole canned tomatoes, diced, plus some juice (we used a can of chopped tomatoes and most of the juice)
1 cup chopped spinach
4 cups rough-textured day-old bread (such as ciabatta), ripped into 1 1/2-in. pieces (we used Costeaux bakery’s garlic and rosemary crostini)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Parmesan cheese

Heat 1 tbsp. olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add onion and garlic; cook until transparent, about 5 minutes. Add carrots and celery and cook, stirring often, 5 minutes. (We just cooked them all together at once.) Stir in broth and beans, then bring to a boil. If you have some white wine on hand that you’re willing to spare, pour some in! Reduce heat, cover, and simmer about 15 minutes. Add tomatoes and simmer another 15 minutes, covered.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350°. Lay bread pieces on a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer. Drizzle with remaining 2 tbsp. olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Toast in oven until slightly golden, about 10 minutes. Set croutons aside. You can see why just buying crostini at the local store is much easier.

Just before serving, add spinach and cook until wilted. Season to taste with salt and pepper. If you have some cilantro or basil, you could throw that in, too.

Divide soup among serving bowls and top each with a few warm croutons and Parmesan. Enjoy!

Curious Audrey, August 2007

Audrey woke me up this morning by clanging on the metal shade of the bedside lamp. She woke me up from a dream with June in it (we were buying pomegranates for something Megan was cooking*) and then just sat there, looking at me.

It was especially annoying because two hours earlier, I had gotten up and opened the door for her at dawn, leaving it open despite the chill. As I went back to bed and snuggled under the blankets, I thought how lucky I was to enjoy blankets near the end of July.

When I plodded downstairs, Audrey raced to the studio door, suggesting that she is STARVING. I ignored her and made coffee, not just because I’m a mean green bean, but because I think it’s a bad idea to feed your cat as soon as you get up. This gives them ideas and leads to less beauty sleep for you (though not for them).

Also, I knew perfectly well that there would still be food in her dish. Audrey never eats all her food, but she likes to have fresh food put in her dish at her command. She won’t eat any of the old food until new food joins it. This, like blankets in July, is a luxury she did not have when her sister was around. Even when the kittens were newborns, June was the biggest and cheerfully walked all over her tiny siblings to nurse.

Speaking of kittens…Mark and his family have two! They are little brothers, black with white paws, and one of them has a white stripe on his nose. I’d guess they are about six weeks old, and they still have blue eyes. I was so excited when Mark told me about them that I forgot my camera, but will hopefully have visual aids for you soon. To make up for this egregious oversight, I have posted a picture of Audrey at around the same age, already looking for trouble.

*In my dreams, my lost loved ones are never dead, it’s all a big misunderstanding. Also, the cats are semi-human, in that we have adventures together and can somehow communicate without actually talking. I like to think of these dreams as visits.

Marilyn Monroe’s House

Marilyn Monroe’s final home can be yours for a mere $3.6 million! This may be the Covet to end all Covets. Imagine swimming in her pool, cooking in her kitchen, walking the same tiled floors, looking in the same mirror (though not seeing the same reflection). Fortunately, it appears that the house has been little altered over the years, so I hope whoever is lucky enough to buy it keeps up the tradition of preservation.

You can see more pictures and details here, but first a warning*: this site is extremely addictive, and may take up hours of your life as you investigate the mansion from “Practical Magic”, the houses from “Gilmore Girls” and “Bewitched”, not to mention Before and After transformations. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’ve always been fascinated by Marilyn, and felt a special connection to her. Nearly ten years ago, I paid her a visit, which I found very moving. You can see my kiss just below her plaque. Our birthdays are three days apart, she died the year I was born, we had the same middle name and unstable mothers. We battled some of the same demons. I have always been convinced that if she had real, true friends who honestly cared about her (the way mine do), she’d still be alive today.

*That reminds me of the scene in “Death Becomes Her” where Meryl Streep has just downed the magic potion and Isabella Rosselini gives her a warning about it, to which the incensed Meryl replies (with some justification) “Now a warning?!”

You can take the girl out of Oakland*, but you can’t take the Oakland out of the girl…

L’il A has taken to acting like a little hoodlum lately. She probably has a tattoo lurking under her fur. Her target: the Notorious D.O.G. gang.

When Rob was helping me with the great Painting Project last week, Star showed her objections to being left home alone by breaking out and joining us. L’il A showed her objections to a rival gang member being on her turf by puffing up hugely and clawing at the unsuspecting (and surprised) Star.

I shooed Audrey away, but she hid under the house, and when Star walked by, Audrey pounced on her. Star was shocked and backed away, wondering what the hell was going on. Audrey was unrepentant.

Rob took Star home again and Audrey ran off to terrorize the local bird population for a change of pace.

Yesterday, Luna was lying on the dusty driveway, minding her own business, when L’il A pulled the puff’n’pounce on her. Luna wisely trotted home, but I have to say I’m worried about this trend. One of these days, Audrey is going to pull this crap on a dog who is less understanding than Luna or Star and she’ll be hurt or even killed. Attacking someone who is about a hundred times bigger than you are is not the greatest idea.

Any thoughts on how to reform this feline delinquent before it’s too late? Possibly a well-timed and well-aimed squirt of water? All suggestions welcome.

*News like this certainly makes me glad I did.