It's December 31, last day of the year, and here we are, wondering where the year went, wondering where the new one will go. Same as it ever was.
Let's just all try really hard to be nice in 2015. Let's make a pact to be kind. That doesn't mean never being bitchy or snarky or snappish. It just means let's all try to be nicer now and then. Consciously kinder.
Also, let's hope for lots of love, lots of luck and lots (or one) of winning lottery tickets in 2015. I, for one, could use a boost, in almost any way I can get it.
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Cooking, butter and old wine
Last first: why do people think that giving a bottle of wine that is 8 years old is a Great Gift? I was the recipient of a bottle of Pinot Noir this week that was from a lame-ass label and the vintage was 2006. Who is going to want that? Who is going to think that is going to taste good? Not me. Hey, folks, it's not a french burgundy. Yes, I said the appropriate "thank you" to the giver but I spit out the first taste and dumped the entire bottle. Yuck. A gift such as that should not be given at all. I am not being cynical here, I am simply being honest. If you buy $10 wines, they will not last for 8 years, trust me. And it is so easy to buy a really good bottle of wine for the same $10 that would make any gift giver and gift getter happy.
Butter: remember when we were in kindergarten and we were given a jar of cream and told to shake, shake, shake it until it turned into butter? And if we were lucky, it did? Well, the hotel I work for gets really thick cream and I borrowed some but, alas, I borrowed too much. I thought I would re-create that golden moment of making cream so I poured some into a jar and shook it. And shook it. And shook it. It got thick and then thicker and finally! It was sort of like soft-spread butter! Without salt, just plain, and it was actually quite nice. Sweet and creamy.
Cooking: Have you noticed the trends in cooking lately? There is no more Roasted Chicken, no more Beef Chili, no more simple Pork Tenderloin. There is nothing that is worth cooking (if you read blogs, articles, Internet food porn sites) unless it has the really hip, current, totally NOW ingredients which are impossible to find in a normal supermarket, not to mention impossible to afford on a $14 per hour wage. Things like pork belly, last year's cutting edge protein, are being replaced by things like everything fermented, bone broth, weird grains like Teff (what the F is that?) and some things I saw today at Whole Foods, kalettes, some cross-dressing kale/brussel sprout combo. Is that what we have to look forward to, hybrid vegetables? It's sad enough that black beans are so, so 1990's, now we have new kinds of beans that you are supposed to soak and then drink the soaking liquid before you cook the beans. O.M.G. Think of the bloating and the gas! Talk about ruining the ozone layer. Yuck.
Bee pollen, spirulina, dhutan rice, oddly milled flours, fiji berries, hemp seed, couscous made out of cauliflower, handpicked roots from things that grow in streams….. it goes on and on. Imagining a nice, simple piece of roasted meat seems heresy when held up against this new regime of food products.
My really nice chicken thighs cooked on a bed of leeks with a smattering of chopped bacon on the top are definitely not socially acceptable any more. My Italian pork cooked in milk might as well be spawn of the devil. It has milk and cream! It has pork but no bacon! Wait, even bacon is getting the cold shoulder, according to food blogs and food magazines. And a simple, delicious roasted chicken? HA! Who would eat such a thing? It must have some rub of natural seeds blended with seaweed and the juice from a cactus that only grows in a five acre plot in central New Mexico. Or the Himalayas. Or in some lab dish.
I know, I am exaggerating, but not by much. Chefs are moving to the country so they can do that silly farm-to-table thing easier. And farm-to-table? Really? What's the alternative? Farm-to-grocery-store? That's how all of us shop, we don't forage for our food. We don't shoot it, we don't clean it, why should we pretend that all this "back to the earth" stuff is something new and somehow better. How pretentious and unreasonable to think that we can all pay $20 a pound for some free-range fat-ass turkey at Thanksgiving.
OK, that's enough. I am going to toss together my simple salad of arugula and toasted walnuts and a diced pear. Wish I had some chickpea flour croutons to go along with it, but that will have to wait for another day. Or a different new year.
Butter: remember when we were in kindergarten and we were given a jar of cream and told to shake, shake, shake it until it turned into butter? And if we were lucky, it did? Well, the hotel I work for gets really thick cream and I borrowed some but, alas, I borrowed too much. I thought I would re-create that golden moment of making cream so I poured some into a jar and shook it. And shook it. And shook it. It got thick and then thicker and finally! It was sort of like soft-spread butter! Without salt, just plain, and it was actually quite nice. Sweet and creamy.
Cooking: Have you noticed the trends in cooking lately? There is no more Roasted Chicken, no more Beef Chili, no more simple Pork Tenderloin. There is nothing that is worth cooking (if you read blogs, articles, Internet food porn sites) unless it has the really hip, current, totally NOW ingredients which are impossible to find in a normal supermarket, not to mention impossible to afford on a $14 per hour wage. Things like pork belly, last year's cutting edge protein, are being replaced by things like everything fermented, bone broth, weird grains like Teff (what the F is that?) and some things I saw today at Whole Foods, kalettes, some cross-dressing kale/brussel sprout combo. Is that what we have to look forward to, hybrid vegetables? It's sad enough that black beans are so, so 1990's, now we have new kinds of beans that you are supposed to soak and then drink the soaking liquid before you cook the beans. O.M.G. Think of the bloating and the gas! Talk about ruining the ozone layer. Yuck.
Bee pollen, spirulina, dhutan rice, oddly milled flours, fiji berries, hemp seed, couscous made out of cauliflower, handpicked roots from things that grow in streams….. it goes on and on. Imagining a nice, simple piece of roasted meat seems heresy when held up against this new regime of food products.
My really nice chicken thighs cooked on a bed of leeks with a smattering of chopped bacon on the top are definitely not socially acceptable any more. My Italian pork cooked in milk might as well be spawn of the devil. It has milk and cream! It has pork but no bacon! Wait, even bacon is getting the cold shoulder, according to food blogs and food magazines. And a simple, delicious roasted chicken? HA! Who would eat such a thing? It must have some rub of natural seeds blended with seaweed and the juice from a cactus that only grows in a five acre plot in central New Mexico. Or the Himalayas. Or in some lab dish.
I know, I am exaggerating, but not by much. Chefs are moving to the country so they can do that silly farm-to-table thing easier. And farm-to-table? Really? What's the alternative? Farm-to-grocery-store? That's how all of us shop, we don't forage for our food. We don't shoot it, we don't clean it, why should we pretend that all this "back to the earth" stuff is something new and somehow better. How pretentious and unreasonable to think that we can all pay $20 a pound for some free-range fat-ass turkey at Thanksgiving.
OK, that's enough. I am going to toss together my simple salad of arugula and toasted walnuts and a diced pear. Wish I had some chickpea flour croutons to go along with it, but that will have to wait for another day. Or a different new year.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Chicken liver pate
One thing I will not be crying about tomorrow is the chicken liver pate I made today. Oh, yes. Very simple, lots of chicken livers, a little port, some butter, shallots, thyme. It tastes really good and will be even better tomorrow.
And I made bacon-onion jam, a nifty concoction that will be good with the above pate. We have some really nice appetizers before the crab fest, like artichoke frittata, a cranberry-serrano pepper jam for crostinis, pulled pork with BBQ sauce, lots of cheeses, dips, nuts, phyllo triangles with spicy Italian sausage and mushrooms, meatballs…. and on and on.
And lots of champagne. Lots.
Happy Xmas Eve, wherever you are. Bring it on, Santa Baby!
And I made bacon-onion jam, a nifty concoction that will be good with the above pate. We have some really nice appetizers before the crab fest, like artichoke frittata, a cranberry-serrano pepper jam for crostinis, pulled pork with BBQ sauce, lots of cheeses, dips, nuts, phyllo triangles with spicy Italian sausage and mushrooms, meatballs…. and on and on.
And lots of champagne. Lots.
Happy Xmas Eve, wherever you are. Bring it on, Santa Baby!
Anne Tyler, Christmas, age, champagne, gifts, love.
I am not sure why but as I write this, I am having a difficult time keeping tears out of my eyes. Rather, the tears are there, I am simply trying to keep them in my eyes and not on my cheeks. I have no reason to be crying and for christ's sake, I am at work, what in the name of xmas would guests think if they saw the front desk worker sobbing? (Well, maybe they would give me a monetary incentive to stop crying. It might work.)
But here I am, teary. Been teary all day. For days, actually. Not sad, not morose, just a tiny bit sad and a little bit lonesome. Lonesome for past christmases, I think. How many christmases does one get? My Mom complains because she is not in the "Christmas Spirit" but hell, she's on her 94th holiday season. After 60 or so xmas trees and after about the 4th tub of eggnog you figure you have consumed in your lifetime, you lose the spirit, thankfully. So at 94, with no xmas spirit, I figure she's entitled to be a little Scroogy about the whole endeavor.
But I am not 94 and I am not waiting for the Grim Reaper to pull my card. (OK, we all are, in a way, but you know what I mean.) I sincerely wish I had paid more attention to christmases in the past. I wish I remember more about when the kids were little, when John and I were Santa. Or about all those incredible crab and champagne feasts the kids (and Stacey) and I had in the little cottage in Inverness. It's like I have overdrawn the memory bank when it comes to certain subjects; there ain't much in it anymore. (Impending Alzheimer's, I sometimes think. But that's short term memory loss, not the past.)
Pause: ………. OK, in light of my lack of joie, I opened a bottle of champagne and am having a glass with some nice Marcona almonds. (Yes, I am still at work. Gotta love the owners who are away and who would, I am sure,fire me be happy I opened the champagne!)
Where was I? Oh, yes, the tears. They come, they go. Seasonal affect, I guess.
Anne Tyler: for a woman who has given us novels for the past 50 years, how does she keep making us love each new one? I am reading "A Spool of Blue Thread" which will be released in 2015 and her signature prose is still about families and their highs, their lows, the realities of marriage, kids, death. Her insights are given in such a soft, back-handed way that it isn't until the scene has played out that you realize you just witnessed a moment of grace or of beauty or of everyday terror. She's a wonderful writer.
Back to xmas: Gifts this year consist of acknowledgements of donations I have made in lieu of gifts. Plus all the stuff I could easily take from the hotel, like granola bars and Marcona almonds, wrapped poorly. Jenn and I have a tree, yesterday we put up the lights around the outside of the house, we are hoping the weather cooperates and gives us crab tomorrow. However, I am pretty sure that at some point in the holiday extravaganza I will start to cry. Maybe it will be OK. At least I won't be surprised. And those who are witnessing it are people whom I love and perhaps they love me, too, and so maybe it will be alright.
But damn, tears are not holiday-ish. They do not inspire thoughts of Christmas Past, Present or Future. Actually, that's wrong, they do inspire thoughts of Christmas Past. Or maybe they are inspired by thoughts of Christmas Past. It's too complicated for me right now.
Still, to anyone who might read this, I truly hope your holidays are happy, tear-free, and full of laughter and love. It's what we all need and what we often have difficulty finding. I hope you find all you need.
xoxo
.
But here I am, teary. Been teary all day. For days, actually. Not sad, not morose, just a tiny bit sad and a little bit lonesome. Lonesome for past christmases, I think. How many christmases does one get? My Mom complains because she is not in the "Christmas Spirit" but hell, she's on her 94th holiday season. After 60 or so xmas trees and after about the 4th tub of eggnog you figure you have consumed in your lifetime, you lose the spirit, thankfully. So at 94, with no xmas spirit, I figure she's entitled to be a little Scroogy about the whole endeavor.
But I am not 94 and I am not waiting for the Grim Reaper to pull my card. (OK, we all are, in a way, but you know what I mean.) I sincerely wish I had paid more attention to christmases in the past. I wish I remember more about when the kids were little, when John and I were Santa. Or about all those incredible crab and champagne feasts the kids (and Stacey) and I had in the little cottage in Inverness. It's like I have overdrawn the memory bank when it comes to certain subjects; there ain't much in it anymore. (Impending Alzheimer's, I sometimes think. But that's short term memory loss, not the past.)
Pause: ………. OK, in light of my lack of joie, I opened a bottle of champagne and am having a glass with some nice Marcona almonds. (Yes, I am still at work. Gotta love the owners who are away and who would, I am sure,
Where was I? Oh, yes, the tears. They come, they go. Seasonal affect, I guess.
Anne Tyler: for a woman who has given us novels for the past 50 years, how does she keep making us love each new one? I am reading "A Spool of Blue Thread" which will be released in 2015 and her signature prose is still about families and their highs, their lows, the realities of marriage, kids, death. Her insights are given in such a soft, back-handed way that it isn't until the scene has played out that you realize you just witnessed a moment of grace or of beauty or of everyday terror. She's a wonderful writer.
Back to xmas: Gifts this year consist of acknowledgements of donations I have made in lieu of gifts. Plus all the stuff I could easily take from the hotel, like granola bars and Marcona almonds, wrapped poorly. Jenn and I have a tree, yesterday we put up the lights around the outside of the house, we are hoping the weather cooperates and gives us crab tomorrow. However, I am pretty sure that at some point in the holiday extravaganza I will start to cry. Maybe it will be OK. At least I won't be surprised. And those who are witnessing it are people whom I love and perhaps they love me, too, and so maybe it will be alright.
But damn, tears are not holiday-ish. They do not inspire thoughts of Christmas Past, Present or Future. Actually, that's wrong, they do inspire thoughts of Christmas Past. Or maybe they are inspired by thoughts of Christmas Past. It's too complicated for me right now.
Still, to anyone who might read this, I truly hope your holidays are happy, tear-free, and full of laughter and love. It's what we all need and what we often have difficulty finding. I hope you find all you need.
xoxo
.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Two weeks later: Eugene
It's been a week since I wrote anything here and TWO weeks since I was in Eugene watching Anna and Finn toss really nice Christmas decorations onto the tree at John and Diane's. I promised to write about it, so this one is for Pat.
I rolled out of Newport, on the coast, away from the lovely hotel where I could have stayed another week. Seriously, a great room, a great ocean, a great Irish bar and a great wine store. What else does a girl need? Bookstores? Four of them within 4 blocks. Good coffee? Check. Quiet? Check. Romance? Wasn't checking.
The drive to Eugene, via Corvallis, was about 2 hours and it was beautiful, a small road, lots of green trees and meadows and rainbows and ..... unicorns? They were the only thing missing. Lovely drive, I was at John's around 1:30. Diane and the small critters were not home which was good. John and I got to chat about all the stuff we always chat about: kids, siblings, parents (mine), books, movies, wine, weather, life, death, taxes, Christmas decoration vomit. Seriously, I walked into their lovely home and there were probably 20 boxes of xmas stuff. Tons and tons of it. John called it "Christmas vomit." I just nodded.
Around 5:30 Diane arrived with Finn and Anna. They are 8 and 6 now, respectively, and rather loquacious. We chatted about their day, how school was and all that but they were there for one main purpose: to decorate the tree. Diane had lights on the tree and a few ornaments, just to give it some credence, I think. She gave the kids full rein at opening boxes, taking whatever out and putting whatever on the tree. The kids rose to the occasion, but were serious in their pursuit of Excellent Decoration. They were on a mission. By the time an hour had whipped by, with much merriment, the tree was fully (and I mean fully) decorated. There was not an inch below the 5 foot mark that had any pine needles visible. Large xmas dolls had been tucked in between branches, sizable glass ornaments had been hung, small gnomes were ensconced in the recesses of the tree. Garland had beentossed willy nilly strung with care around the tree. A ladder was brought out so that they could decorate the top of the tree. They didn't topple onto the tree, but they came close.
About half way into this, while the three grown-ups were polishing off the second bottle of wine, I asked Diane how she came to be such a Christmas Decoration Hoarder. Diane, as many of you know, is a very smart yet pragmatic woman. This obsession to own all this .... this.... xmas stuff, is confusing. She had no real answer, it was just stuff she had picked up along the way. However, she did say that last year she didn't decorate much and she was very happy with the minimalistic manner of that year. But her daughter sort of shamed her into going big this year. So, instead of going home, she went big. (Texans will get that.) ((Go big or go home.))
Anyway, it was a delight to watch and I must say, in the end, the tree looked very happy. We then sat down to a really good salmon dinner, with fresh green beans that I overcooked, which the 6 year old Anna happily pointed out to me. "Well, the beans are overcooked." Sigh. Busted.
I left the next morning, I drove to Redding and stayed at a very unfortunate La Quinta (they take dogs for no fee) where I had to put a chair, sideways, in the sliding glass door slot in order to have some air during the night but not invite strangers to walk into my room. The sliding glass door was one long balcony, anyone could just walk from room to room and if your door was open, walk in. Creepy.
Seriously. What were they thinking? Even in apartment living that is wrong. In a crappy motel, in a crappy motel town like Redding, were they inviting a lawsuit? Thank goodness I had the fierce beast Cooper with me who would gnaw off the leg of any intruder. NOT.
So there you have it, the end of my small yet nice road trip. Speeding ticket notwithstanding ($366, ouch!!!) it was a nice time away. But as Tom has pointed out "six days does not count as a vacation" and so I will be forced to take some more time off before winter ends. Forced because if I don't, some innocent hotel guest might die. Or one of the clowns I work with might die. (If any hotel employees are reading this - very doubtful - I don't mean you. I mean the other ones. The other clowns.)
Onward. I bought a xmas tree, it's up, it looks nice. No gifts this year except for things I can steal. Jolly.
xoxo to you all. more later, over and out for now.
I rolled out of Newport, on the coast, away from the lovely hotel where I could have stayed another week. Seriously, a great room, a great ocean, a great Irish bar and a great wine store. What else does a girl need? Bookstores? Four of them within 4 blocks. Good coffee? Check. Quiet? Check. Romance? Wasn't checking.
The drive to Eugene, via Corvallis, was about 2 hours and it was beautiful, a small road, lots of green trees and meadows and rainbows and ..... unicorns? They were the only thing missing. Lovely drive, I was at John's around 1:30. Diane and the small critters were not home which was good. John and I got to chat about all the stuff we always chat about: kids, siblings, parents (mine), books, movies, wine, weather, life, death, taxes, Christmas decoration vomit. Seriously, I walked into their lovely home and there were probably 20 boxes of xmas stuff. Tons and tons of it. John called it "Christmas vomit." I just nodded.
Around 5:30 Diane arrived with Finn and Anna. They are 8 and 6 now, respectively, and rather loquacious. We chatted about their day, how school was and all that but they were there for one main purpose: to decorate the tree. Diane had lights on the tree and a few ornaments, just to give it some credence, I think. She gave the kids full rein at opening boxes, taking whatever out and putting whatever on the tree. The kids rose to the occasion, but were serious in their pursuit of Excellent Decoration. They were on a mission. By the time an hour had whipped by, with much merriment, the tree was fully (and I mean fully) decorated. There was not an inch below the 5 foot mark that had any pine needles visible. Large xmas dolls had been tucked in between branches, sizable glass ornaments had been hung, small gnomes were ensconced in the recesses of the tree. Garland had been
About half way into this, while the three grown-ups were polishing off the second bottle of wine, I asked Diane how she came to be such a Christmas Decoration Hoarder. Diane, as many of you know, is a very smart yet pragmatic woman. This obsession to own all this .... this.... xmas stuff, is confusing. She had no real answer, it was just stuff she had picked up along the way. However, she did say that last year she didn't decorate much and she was very happy with the minimalistic manner of that year. But her daughter sort of shamed her into going big this year. So, instead of going home, she went big. (Texans will get that.) ((Go big or go home.))
Anyway, it was a delight to watch and I must say, in the end, the tree looked very happy. We then sat down to a really good salmon dinner, with fresh green beans that I overcooked, which the 6 year old Anna happily pointed out to me. "Well, the beans are overcooked." Sigh. Busted.
I left the next morning, I drove to Redding and stayed at a very unfortunate La Quinta (they take dogs for no fee) where I had to put a chair, sideways, in the sliding glass door slot in order to have some air during the night but not invite strangers to walk into my room. The sliding glass door was one long balcony, anyone could just walk from room to room and if your door was open, walk in. Creepy.
Seriously. What were they thinking? Even in apartment living that is wrong. In a crappy motel, in a crappy motel town like Redding, were they inviting a lawsuit? Thank goodness I had the fierce beast Cooper with me who would gnaw off the leg of any intruder. NOT.
So there you have it, the end of my small yet nice road trip. Speeding ticket notwithstanding ($366, ouch!!!) it was a nice time away. But as Tom has pointed out "six days does not count as a vacation" and so I will be forced to take some more time off before winter ends. Forced because if I don't, some innocent hotel guest might die. Or one of the clowns I work with might die. (If any hotel employees are reading this - very doubtful - I don't mean you. I mean the other ones. The other clowns.)
Onward. I bought a xmas tree, it's up, it looks nice. No gifts this year except for things I can steal. Jolly.
xoxo to you all. more later, over and out for now.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer and Tom Selleck
I know, I said I would write about Eugene, and I will. Later.
Am I the only person who loves getting the TJ Flyer in the mail? Could I be the only person who sits down with a glass of wine and goes over every page? It's so odd, I am not a buyer of stuff, but sometimes, like in this flyer, almost every single thing looks really, really good. This is the holiday version so there are lots of tasty small bits, candy, cheese, crackers. I want to take this flyer into Trader Joe's and buy almost everything they describe.
And it isn't like they are great writers, not like the old Peterman Catalogs from 20 years ago where the writers told a story that was so intriguing that it MADE you buy the product. (Well, the "Seinfeld" show made short shrift of that notion.) But for some reason, the TJ flyer picks things that I want at that very moment. Caramels. Crackers. Frozen things that I want to have in my oven RIGHT NOW! Kale and spinach dip. It goes on and on.
Of course, they have some things that sound terrible as well, and I thank my lucky stars I am discerning enough to be able to tell that those few things are never going to be bought by me. Unless they are giving out free samples in the store and I taste it and then I love it and then I must have it. But that rarely happens.
And now, on to Tom Selleck. Yes, I know you thought he would be wrapped up in the Trader Joe's Flyer commentary but, no. I am now totally into the series "Blue Bloods" starring, of course, Tom Selleck. He is the Police Commissioner in NYC (in case you didn't know) and hey, just saying, there is something about the old TS that appeals to me. OK, probably because I am sort of old as well. He is actually 5 years older than me (but looks, oh so much younger than his 69 years!) so it's not like I have a crush on some 30 year old. But yes, I totally enjoy watching him. I think I had a blog post a year or so ago about his "Jesse Stone" series, so thisfascination fixation like of Tom Selleck is nothing new. If you haven't seen the show, check it out. It's free on Netflix, of course.
OK, I will report on Eugene, Oregon and the Tree Trimming Extravaganza tomorrow. Promise.
And how about this lovely rain? Hope everyone is safe and no trees fell on you during the reading of this blog.
.
Am I the only person who loves getting the TJ Flyer in the mail? Could I be the only person who sits down with a glass of wine and goes over every page? It's so odd, I am not a buyer of stuff, but sometimes, like in this flyer, almost every single thing looks really, really good. This is the holiday version so there are lots of tasty small bits, candy, cheese, crackers. I want to take this flyer into Trader Joe's and buy almost everything they describe.
And it isn't like they are great writers, not like the old Peterman Catalogs from 20 years ago where the writers told a story that was so intriguing that it MADE you buy the product. (Well, the "Seinfeld" show made short shrift of that notion.) But for some reason, the TJ flyer picks things that I want at that very moment. Caramels. Crackers. Frozen things that I want to have in my oven RIGHT NOW! Kale and spinach dip. It goes on and on.
Of course, they have some things that sound terrible as well, and I thank my lucky stars I am discerning enough to be able to tell that those few things are never going to be bought by me. Unless they are giving out free samples in the store and I taste it and then I love it and then I must have it. But that rarely happens.
And now, on to Tom Selleck. Yes, I know you thought he would be wrapped up in the Trader Joe's Flyer commentary but, no. I am now totally into the series "Blue Bloods" starring, of course, Tom Selleck. He is the Police Commissioner in NYC (in case you didn't know) and hey, just saying, there is something about the old TS that appeals to me. OK, probably because I am sort of old as well. He is actually 5 years older than me (but looks, oh so much younger than his 69 years!) so it's not like I have a crush on some 30 year old. But yes, I totally enjoy watching him. I think I had a blog post a year or so ago about his "Jesse Stone" series, so this
OK, I will report on Eugene, Oregon and the Tree Trimming Extravaganza tomorrow. Promise.
And how about this lovely rain? Hope everyone is safe and no trees fell on you during the reading of this blog.
.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Out of town, out of Dodge, out of it
It had been a year since I had more than three days off, my choice. I sort of wanted to go to Cambodia but there wasn't enough time and there was that whole Mom situation hanging about. So I hit the road, which I love. First night in Arcata, home of Humboldt University, home of great weed. When Stacey lived up there, Tom and I drove up a couple of times a year, had dinner, smoked, came home. With smoke. But seeing Stacey was the draw. Stacey is always the draw.
This time there was only the draw of being up there, away from home. The Hotel Arcata has seen better days. Some rooms are fine, others smell bad. Who cares. They take dogs, a good thing. Tom and I converged on the Hotel Arcata, walked the dogs, hung out and then went out to dinner. A mediocre dinner but it gave us 2+ hours to talk. And talk. About many things. We don't do that much anymore because we don't meet up that often. Sitting and talking hearkened back to the times we traveled together and had nothing much to do except talk. It was a nice evening.
The next morning we walked the dogs again and then had breakfast and talked some more. Gotta love that. And I do. We parted ways (oh, so poetic.) I went north. Tom went south. However, before I left town I stopped at the donut shop and got one for the road. Tom probably didn't, he has strength of character that I do not have. It was a perfect donut that I was eating an hour later, smacking my lips at the deliciousness of that donut when I got pulled over for doing 50 in a 35 mph zone. So wrong. In so many ways. Not the speeding, but the speeding ticket, of course. The donut was not the fault. The fault was all mine. Hell, I speed every day. To get caught once every three years, not so bad.
Up the coast I went, scofflaw that I am. Before leaving my home I had scoped out the small towns on the Oregon coast and I set my sights on Newport. Don't know why, I just liked the name, I guess. What I wanted was a small hotel on the ocean. View. Comfy bed. Quiet if possible. Cheap if possible.
I found it at the Inn at Nye Beach in Newport. Not a chain, small, 25 rooms, right on the ocean. Amazing off-season rates, like more than half off. With the dog charge, the per night rate was less than $130. Including taxes. Unobstructed view of the ocean, huge room, gas fireplace, two queen beds, small fridge, huge bathroom. (It could have been romantic, but Cooper would have nothing to do with that romantic business. Thank god. Or thank dog.) Great pub in town with amazing whiskey at amazing prices (seriously, a healthy shot of Laphroig was $8, half of what it is in the bay area) and delicious food. Cooper and I walked all around town, walked to the beach several times and it was the perfect place for me. Two nights, I could have spent three.....
Then off to Eugene, which was so much fun. And that will be tomorrow's post. I promise.
xo
This time there was only the draw of being up there, away from home. The Hotel Arcata has seen better days. Some rooms are fine, others smell bad. Who cares. They take dogs, a good thing. Tom and I converged on the Hotel Arcata, walked the dogs, hung out and then went out to dinner. A mediocre dinner but it gave us 2+ hours to talk. And talk. About many things. We don't do that much anymore because we don't meet up that often. Sitting and talking hearkened back to the times we traveled together and had nothing much to do except talk. It was a nice evening.
The next morning we walked the dogs again and then had breakfast and talked some more. Gotta love that. And I do. We parted ways (oh, so poetic.) I went north. Tom went south. However, before I left town I stopped at the donut shop and got one for the road. Tom probably didn't, he has strength of character that I do not have. It was a perfect donut that I was eating an hour later, smacking my lips at the deliciousness of that donut when I got pulled over for doing 50 in a 35 mph zone. So wrong. In so many ways. Not the speeding, but the speeding ticket, of course. The donut was not the fault. The fault was all mine. Hell, I speed every day. To get caught once every three years, not so bad.
Up the coast I went, scofflaw that I am. Before leaving my home I had scoped out the small towns on the Oregon coast and I set my sights on Newport. Don't know why, I just liked the name, I guess. What I wanted was a small hotel on the ocean. View. Comfy bed. Quiet if possible. Cheap if possible.
I found it at the Inn at Nye Beach in Newport. Not a chain, small, 25 rooms, right on the ocean. Amazing off-season rates, like more than half off. With the dog charge, the per night rate was less than $130. Including taxes. Unobstructed view of the ocean, huge room, gas fireplace, two queen beds, small fridge, huge bathroom. (It could have been romantic, but Cooper would have nothing to do with that romantic business. Thank god. Or thank dog.) Great pub in town with amazing whiskey at amazing prices (seriously, a healthy shot of Laphroig was $8, half of what it is in the bay area) and delicious food. Cooper and I walked all around town, walked to the beach several times and it was the perfect place for me. Two nights, I could have spent three.....
Then off to Eugene, which was so much fun. And that will be tomorrow's post. I promise.
xo
Monday, December 8, 2014
Anna Quindlen: "Still Life with Bread Crumbs"
This morning around 8:00 am, after walking the dogs, I sat down on my bed with Anna Quindlen's latest book and began to read. Around 10:00 I moved to the couch with the dogs. A little after noon I finished the book.
This is not the first time I have read one of her books start to finish in one setting. In the 1990's I did the same thing with "One Sure Thing". This new book is shorter, and a quicker read. The 4 hours were well spent.
In the early 1980's I began reading Anna Quindlen when she was a columnist for the New York Times. She wrote about current events and also about being a wife and a mother. Her columns spoke to me and I quickly became a fan. When she began writing fiction, I latched on to that work as well.
Quindlen is not a great writer but, for me, she is a very good writer. Yes, she is a bit manipulative and she tosses emotional angst around like a rainstorm of Hallmark Cards. But she also has characters that seem real: they often react badly, and they frequently make unfortunate decisions. They are rarely heroic and yet they are sometimes brave and unselfish. Her characters can be very weak while trying to be strong. Or they are strong at the same time they are simply humble. I unapologetically enjoy her books and I like the stories they tell. This one was no different. Good story, nice ending, a bit manipulative and no big surprises, but a very good way to start the week.
.
This is not the first time I have read one of her books start to finish in one setting. In the 1990's I did the same thing with "One Sure Thing". This new book is shorter, and a quicker read. The 4 hours were well spent.
In the early 1980's I began reading Anna Quindlen when she was a columnist for the New York Times. She wrote about current events and also about being a wife and a mother. Her columns spoke to me and I quickly became a fan. When she began writing fiction, I latched on to that work as well.
Quindlen is not a great writer but, for me, she is a very good writer. Yes, she is a bit manipulative and she tosses emotional angst around like a rainstorm of Hallmark Cards. But she also has characters that seem real: they often react badly, and they frequently make unfortunate decisions. They are rarely heroic and yet they are sometimes brave and unselfish. Her characters can be very weak while trying to be strong. Or they are strong at the same time they are simply humble. I unapologetically enjoy her books and I like the stories they tell. This one was no different. Good story, nice ending, a bit manipulative and no big surprises, but a very good way to start the week.
.
Monday, December 1, 2014
So much to say, so little time
It's true, mainly because I haven't written in weeks. But for the 3 people who read this, rest assured I will be back. Right now, Monday morning, I am heading out for a little road trip, up the coast to Oregon. Time off, time away, is desparately needed. Just to sit in a hotel room and listen to the ocean, read books and take naps...... that's the goal.
Back at the end of the week and will report in.
xoxo
.
Back at the end of the week and will report in.
xoxo
.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Some books, movies, TV shows, etc.
Yes, it's that time again, when I have nothing else to say so I report on books, movies, etc. Which isn't bad, of course, and I spend a lot of time reading, less time watching stuff on TV, but it indicates a solitary life. Which also isn't bad, it's my choice. I guess.
Jane Smiley: no one writes better than Smiley about farms and Iowa and the early 20th century. "Some Luck" appears to be the first book in a trilogy and it is really good. The characters are so well drawn and their lives are so nicely described, to the point that you sincerely want to know what happens to them, what their lives will become, who will succeed and how, who will succumb to the temptations of the times. It ends as a Book One of a trilogy should end: a little sad yet hopeful and it makes you hungry for Book Two.
"Flight 232" by Laurence Gonzales is a detailed account of the crash of United Airlines Flight 232 in July 1989 in a cornfield in Iowa. I heard an interview with the author on public radio and he was so articulate about this crash and about his book that it compelled me to read it. The details about the crash are gut-wrenching. Interviews with many of the survivors provide those details, from the first indication that something was wrong with the plane to the actual crash, the aftershock of seeing bodies strewn across the crash zone. Reading about the workings of an airplane, the loss of all hydraulics, the mechanics of the plane's destruction seems boring, but those parts were also very interesting. You learn more than you might want to about the crash, but you also learn how this particular crash was a sort of "perfect storm" of small malfunctions that turned into a huge loss of control and subsequently a crash that should have resulted in 100% casualties. Instead, 62% of the passengers and crew survived. It's an intense read.
An Amazon movie rental: "Fort Bliss" tells the story of a young soldier returning from a tour of duty in Afghanistan, trying to mend the relationship with her young 5-year old son. It's not schmaltzy or manipulative. It's honest and very good. You can get a 7 day Amazon rental for less than $5.00. Check it out.
TV shows: well, I succumbed and just bought season 5 of "Justified" with the awesomely hot Timothy Olyphant. Yes, this series is a bit violent and not always nice but Olyphant makes it all worthwhile, at least to me. I also rented season 2 of "Newsroom" which I am totally loving. Smart, quick, so well done. Buying a series sometimes seems like a waste of money but for less than $20 I get hours of happiness (or at least diversion) so it's always worth it. And I can always re-watch it when my feeble memory fades even more.
There are more books that I can report on and maybe I will, but not tonight. I am at work and guests are coming into the lobby area and want to be friendly. I would rather not do that friendly thing, but I cannot type and smile at them simultaneously, so must sign off now.
Jane Smiley: no one writes better than Smiley about farms and Iowa and the early 20th century. "Some Luck" appears to be the first book in a trilogy and it is really good. The characters are so well drawn and their lives are so nicely described, to the point that you sincerely want to know what happens to them, what their lives will become, who will succeed and how, who will succumb to the temptations of the times. It ends as a Book One of a trilogy should end: a little sad yet hopeful and it makes you hungry for Book Two.
"Flight 232" by Laurence Gonzales is a detailed account of the crash of United Airlines Flight 232 in July 1989 in a cornfield in Iowa. I heard an interview with the author on public radio and he was so articulate about this crash and about his book that it compelled me to read it. The details about the crash are gut-wrenching. Interviews with many of the survivors provide those details, from the first indication that something was wrong with the plane to the actual crash, the aftershock of seeing bodies strewn across the crash zone. Reading about the workings of an airplane, the loss of all hydraulics, the mechanics of the plane's destruction seems boring, but those parts were also very interesting. You learn more than you might want to about the crash, but you also learn how this particular crash was a sort of "perfect storm" of small malfunctions that turned into a huge loss of control and subsequently a crash that should have resulted in 100% casualties. Instead, 62% of the passengers and crew survived. It's an intense read.
An Amazon movie rental: "Fort Bliss" tells the story of a young soldier returning from a tour of duty in Afghanistan, trying to mend the relationship with her young 5-year old son. It's not schmaltzy or manipulative. It's honest and very good. You can get a 7 day Amazon rental for less than $5.00. Check it out.
TV shows: well, I succumbed and just bought season 5 of "Justified" with the awesomely hot Timothy Olyphant. Yes, this series is a bit violent and not always nice but Olyphant makes it all worthwhile, at least to me. I also rented season 2 of "Newsroom" which I am totally loving. Smart, quick, so well done. Buying a series sometimes seems like a waste of money but for less than $20 I get hours of happiness (or at least diversion) so it's always worth it. And I can always re-watch it when my feeble memory fades even more.
There are more books that I can report on and maybe I will, but not tonight. I am at work and guests are coming into the lobby area and want to be friendly. I would rather not do that friendly thing, but I cannot type and smile at them simultaneously, so must sign off now.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Cost differential in flannel pjs
First, thank you, Tom, for your sarcastic mourning over the red flannel pajamas. Honestly, I was momentarily sad then got over it. So should you! (Or not, mourn away, my friend. You saw those pjs more than anyone else I've known, so get down with it!)
OK, I went to TJ Max because it's a quarter mile from my house and they have tons of cheap stuff. I found a pair of women's pj bottoms for $12.99. That's fine. But then I went to the men's section and found the EXACT SAME PAIR by the same maker, for $9.99! What's with that? Same flimsy flannel, same maker, just in men's sizes, which obviously use more material because men are usually bigger than women. (In my case, not so much.)
It isn't the $3.00 differential that bugs me but the principle behind it. (They did have a big behind, I might add, more than even I needed.) Why? Is it because women will just pay more and men are cheap? Of course I bought the men's version, saving that precious $3.00, and when I washed them they shrank about 3 inches in length. (Hmm, I could say something here about things shrinking 3 inches in length, but I won't.) Now they still have the big behind but they won't drag on the floor when I walk.
But I don't get the $$$ of the thing. Doesn't matter, who cares, I don't. I now have cozy light-weight flannel pj bottoms with a sagging behind to replace the red ones with deer. These have no deer, no dogs, no moose, nothing except a subtle black and blue plaid pattern. They're kind of nice, actually.
I know, a stupid post, but whatever. I was going to chat about the stupid peeps I work with but that's promoting bad workplace karma, so I chose a different path. The Pajama Path. Deal with it.
,
OK, I went to TJ Max because it's a quarter mile from my house and they have tons of cheap stuff. I found a pair of women's pj bottoms for $12.99. That's fine. But then I went to the men's section and found the EXACT SAME PAIR by the same maker, for $9.99! What's with that? Same flimsy flannel, same maker, just in men's sizes, which obviously use more material because men are usually bigger than women. (In my case, not so much.)
It isn't the $3.00 differential that bugs me but the principle behind it. (They did have a big behind, I might add, more than even I needed.) Why? Is it because women will just pay more and men are cheap? Of course I bought the men's version, saving that precious $3.00, and when I washed them they shrank about 3 inches in length. (Hmm, I could say something here about things shrinking 3 inches in length, but I won't.) Now they still have the big behind but they won't drag on the floor when I walk.
But I don't get the $$$ of the thing. Doesn't matter, who cares, I don't. I now have cozy light-weight flannel pj bottoms with a sagging behind to replace the red ones with deer. These have no deer, no dogs, no moose, nothing except a subtle black and blue plaid pattern. They're kind of nice, actually.
I know, a stupid post, but whatever. I was going to chat about the stupid peeps I work with but that's promoting bad workplace karma, so I chose a different path. The Pajama Path. Deal with it.
,
Thursday, November 6, 2014
The end of red flannel pajamas
Ten or fifteen years ago my friend Tom gave me a pair of red flannel pajamas for Christmas. I think he bought them a size too small for himself, but they fit me perfectly. Red flannel with white deer. Very cozy, warm, comforting. I wore those things a lot. Living in Inverness, one needs flannel pjs so I wore them to bed often. At some point I got rid of the top (too hot, I think) but the bottoms have been with me non-stop.
Flannel pajama bottoms are more than just pajama bottoms. They are like small-grade sweat pants. In Inverness I had no hesitation about going to the grocery store in those pjs with a crappy sweatshirt. I took them to Europe every year (in the days of Europe travel) because there was nothing better than coming back to the hotel room at the end of the afternoon and tossing off my jeans and putting on the red pajama bottoms. They were like lounging pants.
When I come home from work, I always change my clothes and in the colder months I often opted for the red pjs as my in-house non-work outfit. Those red pj bottoms have seen me cook, clean, lounge. They have been to more than a dozen countries, have been worn on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning for the past dozen years and have always been my go-to comfort pants.
In the past couple of months I have noticed that the fabric was getting very sketchy: thin and weak. I gave it notice but nothing more than that. I foolishy figured these red flannel pajama bottoms would be around for another ten years. Not happening. Tonight, sitting down on the couch, the tension that is caused in that sitting down action made the cloth rip apart. Not on the seam, but in the cloth itself. It had simply gotten too old, too fragile, to continue.
Sad, yes. A metaphor perhaps for growing old, being too fragile to continue to hold. I loved these pjs but tomorrow they will go into the trash and I will go to Ross or TJ Max and buy a new pair. They won't have the history that the red pjs have but they may last another ten years or so, hopefully. Or not.
No big deal, but hey, thanks Tom for the gift those many years ago. The red flannel pajamas served me well. I wore them with you many times, at home and abroad. Thank god cloth doesn't speak, but it would be kind of cool if they had their own passport.
.
Flannel pajama bottoms are more than just pajama bottoms. They are like small-grade sweat pants. In Inverness I had no hesitation about going to the grocery store in those pjs with a crappy sweatshirt. I took them to Europe every year (in the days of Europe travel) because there was nothing better than coming back to the hotel room at the end of the afternoon and tossing off my jeans and putting on the red pajama bottoms. They were like lounging pants.
When I come home from work, I always change my clothes and in the colder months I often opted for the red pjs as my in-house non-work outfit. Those red pj bottoms have seen me cook, clean, lounge. They have been to more than a dozen countries, have been worn on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning for the past dozen years and have always been my go-to comfort pants.
In the past couple of months I have noticed that the fabric was getting very sketchy: thin and weak. I gave it notice but nothing more than that. I foolishy figured these red flannel pajama bottoms would be around for another ten years. Not happening. Tonight, sitting down on the couch, the tension that is caused in that sitting down action made the cloth rip apart. Not on the seam, but in the cloth itself. It had simply gotten too old, too fragile, to continue.
Sad, yes. A metaphor perhaps for growing old, being too fragile to continue to hold. I loved these pjs but tomorrow they will go into the trash and I will go to Ross or TJ Max and buy a new pair. They won't have the history that the red pjs have but they may last another ten years or so, hopefully. Or not.
No big deal, but hey, thanks Tom for the gift those many years ago. The red flannel pajamas served me well. I wore them with you many times, at home and abroad. Thank god cloth doesn't speak, but it would be kind of cool if they had their own passport.
.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Something of everything
I could talk about those Giants but everything has been said. What a run! What a win! What a last game! Oh Buster, Madison, Bruce, Pablo and all the rest. Thank you, Giants, you beautiful team, thank you.
Weather: yeah! It was so cold in my house this morning that I turned the heat on, the first time …… in what seems like a year. It was lovely, sleeping last night under a real blanket, feeling the cold air (windows open, of course) on my face and loving every minute of that cold air. Driving through Sonoma Valley right now is like living in a Monet painting: low sun, the light in the sky shimmers with a creamy, golden sheen, the grape vines dance with color and the air still smells like rotting grapes, in a good way. In two weeks those vines will be screaming with bold, crazy color. It's a good time to be alive, in the fall.
And then yesterday I read this article in the NY Times and I almost yelled out loud! This is me! Andrew O'Hagan perfectly describes my love of hotel rooms, even hotel rooms close to home. The anonymity of a sterile yet friendly room, the lack of personal stuff scattered around, the nice towels, the TV channels, the opportunity for room service and on and on. Now, the places I stay are nothing like staying at Claridge's in London, but hey, we take what we can afford and enjoy it immensely. At least I do. Check it out: http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/10/21/a-hotel-room-of-ones-own/
I will make another trip to Sacramento this week to set up a Life-Alert device for the old Mom. It won't prevent her from falling but at least it might get someone to her quicker once she falls again, which she will do. Seriously, folks, it's a mess getting old. Let's not do it. Thelma and Louise were not too far off in steering over that cliff.
More to follow, soon enough.
.
Weather: yeah! It was so cold in my house this morning that I turned the heat on, the first time …… in what seems like a year. It was lovely, sleeping last night under a real blanket, feeling the cold air (windows open, of course) on my face and loving every minute of that cold air. Driving through Sonoma Valley right now is like living in a Monet painting: low sun, the light in the sky shimmers with a creamy, golden sheen, the grape vines dance with color and the air still smells like rotting grapes, in a good way. In two weeks those vines will be screaming with bold, crazy color. It's a good time to be alive, in the fall.
And then yesterday I read this article in the NY Times and I almost yelled out loud! This is me! Andrew O'Hagan perfectly describes my love of hotel rooms, even hotel rooms close to home. The anonymity of a sterile yet friendly room, the lack of personal stuff scattered around, the nice towels, the TV channels, the opportunity for room service and on and on. Now, the places I stay are nothing like staying at Claridge's in London, but hey, we take what we can afford and enjoy it immensely. At least I do. Check it out: http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/10/21/a-hotel-room-of-ones-own/
I will make another trip to Sacramento this week to set up a Life-Alert device for the old Mom. It won't prevent her from falling but at least it might get someone to her quicker once she falls again, which she will do. Seriously, folks, it's a mess getting old. Let's not do it. Thelma and Louise were not too far off in steering over that cliff.
More to follow, soon enough.
.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Oh, my. Giants.
Like everyone else, I could single out certain players that kicked butt. But it would be an exercise in redundancy because all of them were great and kicked butt in their own way. Well, maybe the best was Madison Bumgarner. What can be said about a pitcher who actually pitches 9 innings in a WORLD SERIES GAME!!! In a game where everything is on the line? In a game where he gave up a couple of big hits but wouldn't give up? In a game where the pressure is huge? He believes in finishing what he started, and he did.
Oh, those boys. Panik makes Posey look older than a teenager. Peavy brings back the vibrating pitcher bravado. Sandoval plays when he has the flu and Hunter Pence's hair just keeps on growing. Gotta love them all.
And we do. GO GIANTS!!!!
Oh, those boys. Panik makes Posey look older than a teenager. Peavy brings back the vibrating pitcher bravado. Sandoval plays when he has the flu and Hunter Pence's hair just keeps on growing. Gotta love them all.
And we do. GO GIANTS!!!!
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
and more bar-hopping was done!
On Friday, my friend Pat joined me late in the afternoon and what does one do in SF on a Friday afternoon? Join everyone else for cocktails! We visited several nice establishments, had several nice cocktails, some food at one bar, more at another, a nightcap at another. Great night to be in the city, no jacket needed.
It was a realization for me that I don't play enough. I work too much at a job that is so unimportant except for the measly paycheck. Being in SF for two days and not being at work made me very aware that for the last 6 months I have taken very little time off to just enjoy the day. Therefore, once this year is over and my work schedule is once again up for restructuring, I will restructure it so I get some days off, more than one a week. At some point in one's life, unless one is saving lives, work is just work. It isn't the point. As the saying goes "never mistake having a career with having a life."
On Saturday night Gabe and Annie took me to this most excellent restaurant, Frances, on a neighborhood street near the Castro. Small place, deliciously innovative food and wine, we all licked our respective plates. Slept overnight in Daly City, left Sunday morning to meet Stacey and Sam and Henry and Jenn at the Santa Rosa pumpkin patch for kid time. Got pumpkins.
What a good three days. City, Giants, friends, family, food, kids and pumpkins. What more does one need? Just more of the above.......
.
It was a realization for me that I don't play enough. I work too much at a job that is so unimportant except for the measly paycheck. Being in SF for two days and not being at work made me very aware that for the last 6 months I have taken very little time off to just enjoy the day. Therefore, once this year is over and my work schedule is once again up for restructuring, I will restructure it so I get some days off, more than one a week. At some point in one's life, unless one is saving lives, work is just work. It isn't the point. As the saying goes "never mistake having a career with having a life."
On Saturday night Gabe and Annie took me to this most excellent restaurant, Frances, on a neighborhood street near the Castro. Small place, deliciously innovative food and wine, we all licked our respective plates. Slept overnight in Daly City, left Sunday morning to meet Stacey and Sam and Henry and Jenn at the Santa Rosa pumpkin patch for kid time. Got pumpkins.
What a good three days. City, Giants, friends, family, food, kids and pumpkins. What more does one need? Just more of the above.......
.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Julie Goes to the Big City
Or Julie's Big Adventure in SF!
Long story short, I had a hotel in SF for Thursday and Friday nights. Union Square, not where I would normally stay but it was a Priceline deal, so there it was. A fine room. And come on, to be in SF on Thursday when the Giants won the pennant? How cool is that? Well, I must say, very fucking cool. I had options. I picked option number 1: to be in the city by myself for that one night. I visited three different bars, drank 4 delicious Manhattans and watched the Giants on many TVs. The last was at the Taverna on Belden Place; everyone, the chef, the prep cooks, dishwashers, waitstaff, everyone was at the bar for the last two innings. It was frigging exciting, lots of yelling, lots of high-fives. Walking back to my hotel it wasn't as crazy as it was near the ballpark but it was loud and everyone was happy. Grins from ear to ear, on pretty much everyone.
Friday I left the hotel around 9:00 and walked. I walked for about 3 hours, through Chinatown, down to Battery and Sansome, near Coit Tower, down almost to Pier 39, back around to the Ferry Building and past, back up through Soma to Market and back to upper Union Square. Just walking, no dog, no agenda, just looking at the city. Sat outside at Cafe Presse, pretended I was in Paris (and why are all these people speaking English?) and had salad and two glasses of wine and Tarte Tartin. Watched large buses of tourists roll by, most of them trying to take photos or videos of what they should have been looking at. Temps were in the low 70's, it was beautiful.
One thing that struck me was how many people walk while looking at their phones, not at their route or the city or the people or the day. Just at their phones. They must have some inner radar because collisions are rare. But why not look up? Why not look at the people around you? The city is such a great place to watch people, why just look at a tiny device? It's an attachment I will never understand.
More tomorrow.
.
Long story short, I had a hotel in SF for Thursday and Friday nights. Union Square, not where I would normally stay but it was a Priceline deal, so there it was. A fine room. And come on, to be in SF on Thursday when the Giants won the pennant? How cool is that? Well, I must say, very fucking cool. I had options. I picked option number 1: to be in the city by myself for that one night. I visited three different bars, drank 4 delicious Manhattans and watched the Giants on many TVs. The last was at the Taverna on Belden Place; everyone, the chef, the prep cooks, dishwashers, waitstaff, everyone was at the bar for the last two innings. It was frigging exciting, lots of yelling, lots of high-fives. Walking back to my hotel it wasn't as crazy as it was near the ballpark but it was loud and everyone was happy. Grins from ear to ear, on pretty much everyone.
Friday I left the hotel around 9:00 and walked. I walked for about 3 hours, through Chinatown, down to Battery and Sansome, near Coit Tower, down almost to Pier 39, back around to the Ferry Building and past, back up through Soma to Market and back to upper Union Square. Just walking, no dog, no agenda, just looking at the city. Sat outside at Cafe Presse, pretended I was in Paris (and why are all these people speaking English?) and had salad and two glasses of wine and Tarte Tartin. Watched large buses of tourists roll by, most of them trying to take photos or videos of what they should have been looking at. Temps were in the low 70's, it was beautiful.
One thing that struck me was how many people walk while looking at their phones, not at their route or the city or the people or the day. Just at their phones. They must have some inner radar because collisions are rare. But why not look up? Why not look at the people around you? The city is such a great place to watch people, why just look at a tiny device? It's an attachment I will never understand.
More tomorrow.
.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
How hot was it?
It was so hot the dogs wouldn't go for a walk. Not that I would have taken them, I am not foolish, but when I came home they ran into the backyard and stopped. Stopped and turned around and came back in. For a lark, I put their leashes on them and took them out the front door. They got to the sidewalk and, in unison, turned around and walked back to the front door. For creatures with brains the size of a walnut (or a small hazelnut, in Cooper's body), they knew it was too hot.
And hot it was. Driving home, the bank thermometer on Hwy. 12 at Mission read 116 degrees. Now, that particular thermometer is always dramatic. It reads really high and really low all the time but I have NEVER seen it read that high. So maybe it was 98. Still, that's friggin hot.
Here's the strange thing. I walked the dogs today 6:25 am to 7:10 am. The weather was fine, tiny bit chilly, good for walking dogs in the dark. (And this darkness, well, hello my friend. I am already lamenting the advent of the non-daylight savings time in a couple of weeks when it will be stupidly light and cheery at 6:25 am instead of the sultry and masked darkness we now have. Honestly, who needs DST any more? Can't we just give it up?)
However, after walking the dogs and then driving to Glen Ellen, I made a quick stop in Kenwood to drop off some leftover pizza at my brother's house (I know, TMI) and when I got out of the car I was slapped in the face by air that was at least ten degrees warmer than it was in Santa Rosa, a mere 12 miles away! It was shockingly surprising (redundant) and I actually said out loud something like "holy shit, what's this all about?" and then I moved on, to Glen Ellen, to work. I looked at the weather channel online, and I wasn't crazy! It was 53 in Santa Rosa and 63 in Kenwood! So bizarre.
Now it is 8:00 and it is still, according to weather.com 88 degrees in Santa Rosa and I can attest to that. Thankfully, we have some cooler weather coming, like in the 70's which isn't all that cool. OK, compared to 98 it is cooler. And one of the employees at the hotel today had the audacity to say something like "... oh and it might rain on my day off, that sucks." I wanted to slap that person and explain that rain = water and California needs water, isn't the word "drought" in your vocabulary?
I didn't. But I might, soon. Slap someone, that is.
Gosh, that's an entire term paper on today's temperature. But if you are reading this you should be rejoicing that I didn't report on my trip to Sacramento on Friday to see my Mom and how that went. Pee on the front seat of my car, that's how that went. I won't say more. Except for this: I hope I either die before I get old or I move to Oregon and get the drugs that will let me leave this world in a clean, simple, peacefull way. Old is not nice. Peeing your pants..... not nice. Not knowing who you are, not knowing where you are, not nice.
Go Giants.
.
And hot it was. Driving home, the bank thermometer on Hwy. 12 at Mission read 116 degrees. Now, that particular thermometer is always dramatic. It reads really high and really low all the time but I have NEVER seen it read that high. So maybe it was 98. Still, that's friggin hot.
Here's the strange thing. I walked the dogs today 6:25 am to 7:10 am. The weather was fine, tiny bit chilly, good for walking dogs in the dark. (And this darkness, well, hello my friend. I am already lamenting the advent of the non-daylight savings time in a couple of weeks when it will be stupidly light and cheery at 6:25 am instead of the sultry and masked darkness we now have. Honestly, who needs DST any more? Can't we just give it up?)
However, after walking the dogs and then driving to Glen Ellen, I made a quick stop in Kenwood to drop off some leftover pizza at my brother's house (I know, TMI) and when I got out of the car I was slapped in the face by air that was at least ten degrees warmer than it was in Santa Rosa, a mere 12 miles away! It was shockingly surprising (redundant) and I actually said out loud something like "holy shit, what's this all about?" and then I moved on, to Glen Ellen, to work. I looked at the weather channel online, and I wasn't crazy! It was 53 in Santa Rosa and 63 in Kenwood! So bizarre.
Now it is 8:00 and it is still, according to weather.com 88 degrees in Santa Rosa and I can attest to that. Thankfully, we have some cooler weather coming, like in the 70's which isn't all that cool. OK, compared to 98 it is cooler. And one of the employees at the hotel today had the audacity to say something like "... oh and it might rain on my day off, that sucks." I wanted to slap that person and explain that rain = water and California needs water, isn't the word "drought" in your vocabulary?
I didn't. But I might, soon. Slap someone, that is.
Gosh, that's an entire term paper on today's temperature. But if you are reading this you should be rejoicing that I didn't report on my trip to Sacramento on Friday to see my Mom and how that went. Pee on the front seat of my car, that's how that went. I won't say more. Except for this: I hope I either die before I get old or I move to Oregon and get the drugs that will let me leave this world in a clean, simple, peacefull way. Old is not nice. Peeing your pants..... not nice. Not knowing who you are, not knowing where you are, not nice.
Go Giants.
.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Coming soon to theaters near you
That would be a new post. It is here, in the dark recesses of my muddled brain. Muddled like an Old Fashion, sugar cube on the bottom, cherry on top of that, some orange peel, muddled with that wooden stick thing and then topped with whiskey, ice and a hit of sparkling water. That kind of muddled. Don't scoff. Don't make fun. Don't judge. Muddling, whether the drink kind or the mind kind, is tough business.
Results of muddling will soon be posted.
Or something like it.
Results of muddling will soon be posted.
Or something like it.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Laurie Colwin, yet again
It's funny, I know exactly who will read this blog and who probably won't. You know who you are. You, like me, love Laurie Colwin. Yes, her novels and stories were very good but her cookbooks..... well, not really cookbooks, more like cooking essays, are the best. Hands down, the best food writing. Ever. All the newcomers that are on the scene now cannot hold a candle to Laurie Colwin.
When I'm in a funk, when I feel like I need "home" even if I am sitting on my own couch, when I need to be soothed, I read some of her essays. I have given her two books, "Home Cooking" and "More Home Cooking" to several brides-to-be but I am not sure any of them really read these books because they are not the "1 tablespoon of this and a half cup of that and 3 jiggers of something else" kind of cook books. They are the kind of books that make you feel like you know what to do in the kitchen. Her books empower you. Her recipes, if you can call them that, are usually so casual as to make you think you came up with the thing all on your own.
So, in the last few days, I have been re-reading Laurie. She wrote for Gourmet Magazine in the 1980 and '90's, a crucial time for me, food-wise. She was reason to buy the friggin magazine, for goodness sake. She spoke to us. She told us to not be afraid, that simple, good food was the thing. We don't need no fancy food, we need good food. She was ahead of her time and she was right.
"There are times in life - usually after a spate of self-indulgence - when one's soul cries out for minimalist food: clean, plain, and non taxing. ... But there are other times, usually in horrible weather, when one longs for straight-forward, savory, down-home food, and lots of it. This is the sort of cooking people call "heartwarming" and there is no doubt about it - it does cheer people up." How can you argue with any of that?
So, to soothe my ragged soul right now, I am reading Laurie Colwin, yet again. If you have these books, put them by your bedside and read a chapter or two (they are short) before you go to bed. If you don't have these books, take them out of the library.... and then buy them. You will want them. They are like an old teddy bear, or a really good pillow. Reliable, worn in, comfortable and so, so useful.
"It always seems to me that cooking is like love. You don't have to be particularly beautiful or very glamorous, or even very exciting to fall in love. You just have to be interested in it. It's the same thing with food. You do not have to be a genius.You don't have to come from a long culinary tradition. You just have to go to a restaurant and eat a hamburger and say "This particular hamburger tastes swell." And then you have to say, "Could you please tell me what you did?" .... And then you say to yourself, "I will now try to do this in my own kitchen." And you do, and you are happy because you learned something and you cooked it and you made it yours and you moved on.
Oh, Laurie, thank you. You left us too soon but we love you so much.
xoxo
.
When I'm in a funk, when I feel like I need "home" even if I am sitting on my own couch, when I need to be soothed, I read some of her essays. I have given her two books, "Home Cooking" and "More Home Cooking" to several brides-to-be but I am not sure any of them really read these books because they are not the "1 tablespoon of this and a half cup of that and 3 jiggers of something else" kind of cook books. They are the kind of books that make you feel like you know what to do in the kitchen. Her books empower you. Her recipes, if you can call them that, are usually so casual as to make you think you came up with the thing all on your own.
So, in the last few days, I have been re-reading Laurie. She wrote for Gourmet Magazine in the 1980 and '90's, a crucial time for me, food-wise. She was reason to buy the friggin magazine, for goodness sake. She spoke to us. She told us to not be afraid, that simple, good food was the thing. We don't need no fancy food, we need good food. She was ahead of her time and she was right.
"There are times in life - usually after a spate of self-indulgence - when one's soul cries out for minimalist food: clean, plain, and non taxing. ... But there are other times, usually in horrible weather, when one longs for straight-forward, savory, down-home food, and lots of it. This is the sort of cooking people call "heartwarming" and there is no doubt about it - it does cheer people up." How can you argue with any of that?
So, to soothe my ragged soul right now, I am reading Laurie Colwin, yet again. If you have these books, put them by your bedside and read a chapter or two (they are short) before you go to bed. If you don't have these books, take them out of the library.... and then buy them. You will want them. They are like an old teddy bear, or a really good pillow. Reliable, worn in, comfortable and so, so useful.
"It always seems to me that cooking is like love. You don't have to be particularly beautiful or very glamorous, or even very exciting to fall in love. You just have to be interested in it. It's the same thing with food. You do not have to be a genius.You don't have to come from a long culinary tradition. You just have to go to a restaurant and eat a hamburger and say "This particular hamburger tastes swell." And then you have to say, "Could you please tell me what you did?" .... And then you say to yourself, "I will now try to do this in my own kitchen." And you do, and you are happy because you learned something and you cooked it and you made it yours and you moved on.
Oh, Laurie, thank you. You left us too soon but we love you so much.
xoxo
.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
More fucking life lessons
I knew if I put a swear word in the title, you would read it. If I just titled it Life Lessons, NO ONE would read it, how boring is that? But these fucking lessons of life, the ones you keep thinking you already learned? I am tired of them. I am tired of yet another one throwing itself at my face like cold water from a cup. Surprising me, yet again, with what I do not know. About anything.
I have nothing specific in mind here, just the crap we have to learn as new things pop up: what kind of diapers to buy for your parent, how to handle that subject delicately, (which always reminds me of the Wicked Witch in the "Wizard of Oz" saying to Dorothy "...these things must be done Delicately....") how to ask for time off when your job has no time off and how to act grateful when you get it,(without pay, of course, but in July that will be remedied, thanks to Gov. Jerry Brown) and how to grow up. That's the big one. We all think, at this age, we are grown up but I don't think that's the case. I don't think you are grown up until you really, really stare your mortality in its friggin face. And when you do that, well, pretty much you are on your way outta here, so what good did that growing up really do?
More fucking life lessons: thinking about not having enough money for retiring, getting that thing in the mail about fecal samples and pooping on the paper and putting some of it on a stick and mailing it in to see if your colon is working well or sabotaging you as you poop (oh, just you wait, youngsters, til that scenario smacks you in the choppers), listening to your knees crack every morning, having friends die, feeling helpless in your continued journey to old age, sharing grief, sharing despair, sharing depression. Simply acknowledging grief, despair and depression are lessons we learn, over and over, and they are new every fucking time.
But there are good life lessons as well, not to sound like a Hallmark commercial, but there is always hope, there is great joy in sort-of-grandkids ("Julie makes the best ribs" said Sam), the loyalty of dogs, a bit of solitude, of silence. Bach. Aaron Copland. Double rye whiskey, which always surprises me, again and again, thankfully. Kindness. Trader Joe's Coffee Ice Cream. The glorious beauty of the sunrise on an empty stretch of road. I could probably go on and on about these good things longer than the bad. And that's good.
So, nothing here that is profound, remarkable or memorable except that life lessons, as fucked as they often are, are also, now and then, lovely.
Sam, I will grill ribs for you any time, any day, just so you know. Just ask.
xoxo
.
I have nothing specific in mind here, just the crap we have to learn as new things pop up: what kind of diapers to buy for your parent, how to handle that subject delicately, (which always reminds me of the Wicked Witch in the "Wizard of Oz" saying to Dorothy "...these things must be done Delicately....") how to ask for time off when your job has no time off and how to act grateful when you get it,(without pay, of course, but in July that will be remedied, thanks to Gov. Jerry Brown) and how to grow up. That's the big one. We all think, at this age, we are grown up but I don't think that's the case. I don't think you are grown up until you really, really stare your mortality in its friggin face. And when you do that, well, pretty much you are on your way outta here, so what good did that growing up really do?
More fucking life lessons: thinking about not having enough money for retiring, getting that thing in the mail about fecal samples and pooping on the paper and putting some of it on a stick and mailing it in to see if your colon is working well or sabotaging you as you poop (oh, just you wait, youngsters, til that scenario smacks you in the choppers), listening to your knees crack every morning, having friends die, feeling helpless in your continued journey to old age, sharing grief, sharing despair, sharing depression. Simply acknowledging grief, despair and depression are lessons we learn, over and over, and they are new every fucking time.
But there are good life lessons as well, not to sound like a Hallmark commercial, but there is always hope, there is great joy in sort-of-grandkids ("Julie makes the best ribs" said Sam), the loyalty of dogs, a bit of solitude, of silence. Bach. Aaron Copland. Double rye whiskey, which always surprises me, again and again, thankfully. Kindness. Trader Joe's Coffee Ice Cream. The glorious beauty of the sunrise on an empty stretch of road. I could probably go on and on about these good things longer than the bad. And that's good.
So, nothing here that is profound, remarkable or memorable except that life lessons, as fucked as they often are, are also, now and then, lovely.
Sam, I will grill ribs for you any time, any day, just so you know. Just ask.
xoxo
.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Mom, not dead, getting better, but.....
I realize that not many people want to read about my mother, so feel free to skip this. Today she moved back into her little apartment at the retirement home but we are all on high alert to see what happens, how she does. She is very weak but alert. She is cautiously mobile. She does not want to have another small stroke and hopes that if she has another stroke it takes her out. She is realistic. Sort of.
So much is involved in this process.... not just getting her in and out of the hospital and then the rehab place but getting her back into her apartment, finding a care person to help her a couple of hours a day, convincing her that she has to stop, breathe and wait before moving. And so much more, like finding a place for her here in Sonoma County, which is another kind of chore and journey.
But right now she is OK. She is sort of like the Mom we wished we had as kids. (At least Steve and I think that.) She is sweet and funny and self deprecating and sort of nice to be around for an hour or so. We don't know what will happen, but no one does.
If nothing else, this entire experience has made me really think about life, death and the yawning gap in-between. And about getting old and about not wanting to be in a "place" and the conversation I need to have with my kids (and siblings) about my old age scenario and about theirs. I think about my 4 brothers, three who are not married and no kids in the mix. Who are they going to depend on? But then, I don't want to depend on my kids, so maybe they are better off in that regard. And they (we) are not alone; our Baby Boom Generation has so many unmarried, unattached people who are just now starting to contemplate their old age future. It ain't pretty and as we all, all millions of us, get older and older, it will get even less pretty. The smart thing to do would be to buy a big house somewhere cheap, but close to a hospital, and eventually we could all live there, with a live-in nurse. And a kind, old gentleman like Dr. Kevorkian who would supply us with flavorful Kool-Aid. You know what I mean.
On it goes. But hey, every day I thank my lucky stars I don't live in Gaza or in Syria or in parts of Africa. How is it that some get born here, with perks like water, and so many others get born in terror, poverty, fear and crisis? It's the unanswerable question.
.
So much is involved in this process.... not just getting her in and out of the hospital and then the rehab place but getting her back into her apartment, finding a care person to help her a couple of hours a day, convincing her that she has to stop, breathe and wait before moving. And so much more, like finding a place for her here in Sonoma County, which is another kind of chore and journey.
But right now she is OK. She is sort of like the Mom we wished we had as kids. (At least Steve and I think that.) She is sweet and funny and self deprecating and sort of nice to be around for an hour or so. We don't know what will happen, but no one does.
If nothing else, this entire experience has made me really think about life, death and the yawning gap in-between. And about getting old and about not wanting to be in a "place" and the conversation I need to have with my kids (and siblings) about my old age scenario and about theirs. I think about my 4 brothers, three who are not married and no kids in the mix. Who are they going to depend on? But then, I don't want to depend on my kids, so maybe they are better off in that regard. And they (we) are not alone; our Baby Boom Generation has so many unmarried, unattached people who are just now starting to contemplate their old age future. It ain't pretty and as we all, all millions of us, get older and older, it will get even less pretty. The smart thing to do would be to buy a big house somewhere cheap, but close to a hospital, and eventually we could all live there, with a live-in nurse. And a kind, old gentleman like Dr. Kevorkian who would supply us with flavorful Kool-Aid. You know what I mean.
On it goes. But hey, every day I thank my lucky stars I don't live in Gaza or in Syria or in parts of Africa. How is it that some get born here, with perks like water, and so many others get born in terror, poverty, fear and crisis? It's the unanswerable question.
.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Lasering People at the Dentist Office
I visited the dentist today to have a small cavity filled. The doctor warned me that he would be using a laser to remove the decayed part and that it would be incredibly dangerous** but he believed the danger was outweighed by the swiftness of the process and the ease of the procedure. Ease for him, of course. Danger for the patient.
So it was with extreme trepidation that I sat down in the chair. He has new offices, obviously paid for by us, the gullible clients. (He calls us "guests" by the way. HA!) Before I could even ask a simple question like "How dangerous is the laser?" he had a swab with some drug on it jammed between my rotting tooth and my gum. Within a minute my gum and tongue were numb. I still was able to ask about the laser and he assured me that yes, he could totally vaporize anything with the laser. The rotting part of the tooth, the entire tooth if he so desired.
Foolishly, now under the influence of gum and mind-numbing drugs delivered on a Q-tip, I asked "Could you vaporize something bigger?" and he replied "Well, yes. Say you had a friend you didn't like anymore, so not really a friend and you wanted him gone, I could make that happen." He proceeded to tell me that he took appointments for very late at night, like midnight and he had a different dental assistant named Vinnie because the work was just too difficult for the girl assistants and that he had a room in the back, lined with plastic, and he could totally vaporize an entire body!
Of course, by this time, I was laughing out loud, with the swab still sticking out of my mouth, and he gave me some nice, salient details that made me laugh more. With a laser, depending on the size, you can cut through anything. Harken back to the movie "Goldfinger" when Bond, James Bond is tied to a metal table and the laser is inching up that table, dissolving it, getting closer and closer to Bond's junk..... that could actually happen and hey, that was like 50 years ago! So prescient, those Bond movies.
But back to today. After about 5 minutes, he shows me the laser and gets to work. It took about 5 minutes for him to laser out the bad part of the decay and he used a drill-like thing to smooth the edges of the cavity ("lasers don't smooth things out. Yet.") He lasered a little more and then he put in some new filling compound and cemented it in with another laser! I did the biting thing a couple of times and Done! The entire process took maybe 15 minutes (not counting the sucking on the drug lollipop which could have gone on for a while since it was obviously affecting my brain as well and I like that sort of thing) and it did not hurt one teeny bit and involved no needles! No shots! And there wasn't that smell you get when they drill and your tooth goes up in smoke. It was amazingly easy and tidy.
We chatted a few more minutes and when I left, the numbness in my tongue and gum were gone. Very, very impressive, especially for someone who has had probably about 80 trips to the dentist in my lifetime, just for fillings.
Along the way, we talked about lots of other things. This is a smart guy. Very into the science of the body, but not in a Sebastopol way, not all "here's what my urine says today" but just tuned into how the body works and how it changes every day. Plus he's as cute as a box of puppies with really good teeth, which never hurts.
So, laughing out loud in the dentist chair, that hasn't happened in a long time and it was greatly appreciated. And my tooth is whole, happy and lasered! I was going to ask for a discount because I avoided the really garlicky meatballs in my fridge last night for the sake of the dentist, but he made me laugh so much I forgot! Nice work, Laser-Man!
** kidding, he never said anything like that and the laser is totally not dangerous unless you aim it at the wrong thing. Like your knee or the window or a person. Just saying......
.
So it was with extreme trepidation that I sat down in the chair. He has new offices, obviously paid for by us, the gullible clients. (He calls us "guests" by the way. HA!) Before I could even ask a simple question like "How dangerous is the laser?" he had a swab with some drug on it jammed between my rotting tooth and my gum. Within a minute my gum and tongue were numb. I still was able to ask about the laser and he assured me that yes, he could totally vaporize anything with the laser. The rotting part of the tooth, the entire tooth if he so desired.
Foolishly, now under the influence of gum and mind-numbing drugs delivered on a Q-tip, I asked "Could you vaporize something bigger?" and he replied "Well, yes. Say you had a friend you didn't like anymore, so not really a friend and you wanted him gone, I could make that happen." He proceeded to tell me that he took appointments for very late at night, like midnight and he had a different dental assistant named Vinnie because the work was just too difficult for the girl assistants and that he had a room in the back, lined with plastic, and he could totally vaporize an entire body!
Of course, by this time, I was laughing out loud, with the swab still sticking out of my mouth, and he gave me some nice, salient details that made me laugh more. With a laser, depending on the size, you can cut through anything. Harken back to the movie "Goldfinger" when Bond, James Bond is tied to a metal table and the laser is inching up that table, dissolving it, getting closer and closer to Bond's junk..... that could actually happen and hey, that was like 50 years ago! So prescient, those Bond movies.
But back to today. After about 5 minutes, he shows me the laser and gets to work. It took about 5 minutes for him to laser out the bad part of the decay and he used a drill-like thing to smooth the edges of the cavity ("lasers don't smooth things out. Yet.") He lasered a little more and then he put in some new filling compound and cemented it in with another laser! I did the biting thing a couple of times and Done! The entire process took maybe 15 minutes (not counting the sucking on the drug lollipop which could have gone on for a while since it was obviously affecting my brain as well and I like that sort of thing) and it did not hurt one teeny bit and involved no needles! No shots! And there wasn't that smell you get when they drill and your tooth goes up in smoke. It was amazingly easy and tidy.
We chatted a few more minutes and when I left, the numbness in my tongue and gum were gone. Very, very impressive, especially for someone who has had probably about 80 trips to the dentist in my lifetime, just for fillings.
Along the way, we talked about lots of other things. This is a smart guy. Very into the science of the body, but not in a Sebastopol way, not all "here's what my urine says today" but just tuned into how the body works and how it changes every day. Plus he's as cute as a box of puppies with really good teeth, which never hurts.
So, laughing out loud in the dentist chair, that hasn't happened in a long time and it was greatly appreciated. And my tooth is whole, happy and lasered! I was going to ask for a discount because I avoided the really garlicky meatballs in my fridge last night for the sake of the dentist, but he made me laugh so much I forgot! Nice work, Laser-Man!
** kidding, he never said anything like that and the laser is totally not dangerous unless you aim it at the wrong thing. Like your knee or the window or a person. Just saying......
.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Come on, is this our future?
ACK! Since I last spoke to you all, and thank you for gathering here today, nothing much has happened to me except the continuing saga of dealing with my Mom. She turned 94 in the middle of August, fell down, was a bit out of it for a few days, then last week fell down again but might have had a little stroke and a little heart attack, and her kidneys weren't functioning well and she was way, way out of it. Spent a week in the hospital, and we all know how hospitals want to discharge you ASAP. Needless to say, I have put many miles on my car driving out to Carmichael and back, checking on Mom and just being there.
Yesterday I was at the hospital and they decided to discharge her, which means you wait around in the hospital room for the entire day until the EMT guys come and take her the three blocks to the new place, a care facility, for a cost of something like $1000 for that 3 block drive and then you wait around for another 2 hours until they can even talk to you about the Mom person and get her settled into this New Place and then you get an hour reprieve to go out with your sister who has handled the force of this situation for weeks and is so exhausted. You both get some alcohol (oh, thank you chemistry, for fermented products such as wine) combined with food because you have not eaten anything except a banana at 10:00 in the morning.
Then you go back to the New Place and you get to deal with Mom who has no idea what year it is or where she is or how she got there. Which is fine, of course, because that's the easy part and she isn't unhappy about it, just confused, and you put an alarm on her so she will be rescued if she tries to get out of bed in the middle of the night and you try to say "goodnight" to her, which she doesn't understand. Then you leave that place and you go to a nice hotel and check in and get couple of inches of Jack Daniels in a nice hotel glass and sit on your bed and call the brothers and fill them in on the details about Mom, while looking out the large window of that lovely hotel room at the freeway and cars going by and the large flag waving in the breeze and feeling the really cold air-conditioned air blowing on you and thinking that this is the best Jack Daniels you have ever tasted. And you get the best sleep, in that hotel bed with that cold air blowing, that you have had in months. You consider staying in that hotel room for another couple of days, just to sleep. Just to sleep and not dream and be quiet. Just to be quiet and have time to think. Or not think, because the thinking makes you sad and you then think that you do NOT want this to happen to you but what control over all of this do we have. So you want to stay in that hotel, it feels safe and far away from those thoughts.
But you don't. You go back to the New Place, see Mom again in the morning, again with just a banana as breakfast, and then you drive home.
And do it all over again soon.
I must thank my siblings, especially Kate, for what she has done so far. All siblings are coming up to the plate ready to swing and at least get a base hit or a bunt. No one is sitting on the bench. But it isn't enough, of course. It's wait and see right now, to see what happens with Mom.
If you read this far, thank you.
.
Yesterday I was at the hospital and they decided to discharge her, which means you wait around in the hospital room for the entire day until the EMT guys come and take her the three blocks to the new place, a care facility, for a cost of something like $1000 for that 3 block drive and then you wait around for another 2 hours until they can even talk to you about the Mom person and get her settled into this New Place and then you get an hour reprieve to go out with your sister who has handled the force of this situation for weeks and is so exhausted. You both get some alcohol (oh, thank you chemistry, for fermented products such as wine) combined with food because you have not eaten anything except a banana at 10:00 in the morning.
Then you go back to the New Place and you get to deal with Mom who has no idea what year it is or where she is or how she got there. Which is fine, of course, because that's the easy part and she isn't unhappy about it, just confused, and you put an alarm on her so she will be rescued if she tries to get out of bed in the middle of the night and you try to say "goodnight" to her, which she doesn't understand. Then you leave that place and you go to a nice hotel and check in and get couple of inches of Jack Daniels in a nice hotel glass and sit on your bed and call the brothers and fill them in on the details about Mom, while looking out the large window of that lovely hotel room at the freeway and cars going by and the large flag waving in the breeze and feeling the really cold air-conditioned air blowing on you and thinking that this is the best Jack Daniels you have ever tasted. And you get the best sleep, in that hotel bed with that cold air blowing, that you have had in months. You consider staying in that hotel room for another couple of days, just to sleep. Just to sleep and not dream and be quiet. Just to be quiet and have time to think. Or not think, because the thinking makes you sad and you then think that you do NOT want this to happen to you but what control over all of this do we have. So you want to stay in that hotel, it feels safe and far away from those thoughts.
But you don't. You go back to the New Place, see Mom again in the morning, again with just a banana as breakfast, and then you drive home.
And do it all over again soon.
I must thank my siblings, especially Kate, for what she has done so far. All siblings are coming up to the plate ready to swing and at least get a base hit or a bunt. No one is sitting on the bench. But it isn't enough, of course. It's wait and see right now, to see what happens with Mom.
If you read this far, thank you.
.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Are you awake now?
If anyone reads this, and thank you if you do, it has been a tough week. My level of ennui has reached Mt. Everest proportions. My lack of concern about my hotel job has reached levels way below sea level, like Badwater levels in Death Valley. "I don't care" is my new mantra. I don't care, and in the hospitality industry, that is simply not good.
My Mom is in the hospital again. This time it's pretty serious. Problems with her lungs, heart and kidneys. Not sure what's going on and the doctors aren't sure either. But hey, at 94, things fail. Many things fail at once. I wish she would just stroke out or have a bigger heart attack and die simply. The prognosis isn't good and the long term care options are worse. If that sounds callus, so be it. Putting her in a long term "care facility" sounds a lot worse than dying.
Oh, my Baby Boom Generation compatriots, let's take up the flag and opt for a way out! We are huge, this generation, and we should have some clout. It should be easy to drink the Koolaid at some point, to just fade away when it is appropriate. I do not know one person in the age bracket of 50 - 75 who wants to hang on in a fucking nursing home, having someone run an IV line in, have someone spoon gruel and applesauce into one's mouth, have someone change diapers, have someone prop you up in bed.
More on this a little later.
My Mom is in the hospital again. This time it's pretty serious. Problems with her lungs, heart and kidneys. Not sure what's going on and the doctors aren't sure either. But hey, at 94, things fail. Many things fail at once. I wish she would just stroke out or have a bigger heart attack and die simply. The prognosis isn't good and the long term care options are worse. If that sounds callus, so be it. Putting her in a long term "care facility" sounds a lot worse than dying.
Oh, my Baby Boom Generation compatriots, let's take up the flag and opt for a way out! We are huge, this generation, and we should have some clout. It should be easy to drink the Koolaid at some point, to just fade away when it is appropriate. I do not know one person in the age bracket of 50 - 75 who wants to hang on in a fucking nursing home, having someone run an IV line in, have someone spoon gruel and applesauce into one's mouth, have someone change diapers, have someone prop you up in bed.
More on this a little later.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
This Blog
I am not seeing the point of this blog any more. When I started it, I was unemployed and starting off on a road trip. It has spanned a lot of my life. But now I am employed and not on a road trip and I am fucking bored out of my mind. And riddled with angst and ennui.
Now I blog (aka write) about books I read, movies I see, random stuff. It has no point. Who cares, really?
This is a "heads up." I will continue to write here but I can't tell you how often or about what. When I read a good book or see a good movie or eat a good meal or have a good conversation, I might write about it. I might not.
This Friday there was a dedication at Westmoor High School in Daly City for some picnic benches. They, and the area in which they are situated, were dedicated to my friend Martha who was killed two years ago. She taught at Westmoor and was the Vice Principal there for more than 20 years before she went on to work at the Superintendent's Office. It was a lovely ceremony, thanks to her good friend Emily. People spoke, some students sang, there was a nice crowd of teachers and students gathered for it.
It made me cry, again, for the loss of Martha. It makes me cry right now. Why do some people get killed and some people get to live on and on, past their expiration date? (Rhetorical question, no answer required.) Grief just goes on and on. Ask my brother Steve about that. Ask anyone who has lost a friend, lover, sister, brother, child. Grief has no expiration date. It simply flows, like water, on and on. Into the blue again. "Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down."
Move on. Yes. Moving on. However, the level of impatience I feel about everything makes it, simultaneously, impossible to move on and imperative that I move on. But the level of angst (for lack of a better word) that I feel about everything right now holds me hostage. And that list, the "everything" seems too daunting to discuss right now.
I have nothing else to say right now.
Now I blog (aka write) about books I read, movies I see, random stuff. It has no point. Who cares, really?
This is a "heads up." I will continue to write here but I can't tell you how often or about what. When I read a good book or see a good movie or eat a good meal or have a good conversation, I might write about it. I might not.
This Friday there was a dedication at Westmoor High School in Daly City for some picnic benches. They, and the area in which they are situated, were dedicated to my friend Martha who was killed two years ago. She taught at Westmoor and was the Vice Principal there for more than 20 years before she went on to work at the Superintendent's Office. It was a lovely ceremony, thanks to her good friend Emily. People spoke, some students sang, there was a nice crowd of teachers and students gathered for it.
It made me cry, again, for the loss of Martha. It makes me cry right now. Why do some people get killed and some people get to live on and on, past their expiration date? (Rhetorical question, no answer required.) Grief just goes on and on. Ask my brother Steve about that. Ask anyone who has lost a friend, lover, sister, brother, child. Grief has no expiration date. It simply flows, like water, on and on. Into the blue again. "Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down."
Move on. Yes. Moving on. However, the level of impatience I feel about everything makes it, simultaneously, impossible to move on and imperative that I move on. But the level of angst (for lack of a better word) that I feel about everything right now holds me hostage. And that list, the "everything" seems too daunting to discuss right now.
I have nothing else to say right now.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
August 10: A Whirlwind is Born
After talking to John, I was tempted to retitle this post "The Birth of a Ferrari" but decided to leave it as it is.
Forty one years ago John and I welcomed, with trepidation, our daughter into the world. She came easily into this world, dark haired, squishy faced and she had a lusty, loud cry. A week or so into the world her squishy face turned beautiful and Jennifer was a beautiful baby and a beautiful girl. She is now a beautiful woman.
Jennifer was a bit "out of the box" from the beginning. At the age of 18 months she would take everything off her toy shelf and reorganize it. She started Montessori school when she was about 2 1/2 years old and was reading within a year. At her fourth birthday party, she read all her birthday cards out loud to the kids who were impatiently waiting for cake. When she was about six, John and I were a little nervous about her obvious intelligence. We had some intelligence tests done, just to reassure ourselves she wasn't THAT smart. She aced the tests.
Ups and downs. Highs and lows. Yin and yang. Good and bad. Contradictions defined Jennifer then and they define her now. After forty one years, little about her surprises me except her continuous stream of energy. And her incredible organizational skills. And her talents. And her kindness and her temper. And her love and loyalty. And so much more, now that I think about it. Never a dull moment with that girl, that's for sure. It's a whirlwind, all the time. (Well, except when we are sitting on the couch, dogs on our laps, watching some random TV show. Cool dullness, yes!)
Jennifer doesn't read this blog, but if she did she would read that I love her more today than ever and I admire her more than ever as well. She confounds me but she comforts me, too. She can make me swear and purr at the same time. How she does that, I do not know.
Forty one years. 41 is a prime number. I hope it's a prime year for her.
Happy Birthday, beautiful girl! Know your Momma loves you. And your Daddy does too. And so many more.....
LTBT.
.
Forty one years ago John and I welcomed, with trepidation, our daughter into the world. She came easily into this world, dark haired, squishy faced and she had a lusty, loud cry. A week or so into the world her squishy face turned beautiful and Jennifer was a beautiful baby and a beautiful girl. She is now a beautiful woman.
Jennifer was a bit "out of the box" from the beginning. At the age of 18 months she would take everything off her toy shelf and reorganize it. She started Montessori school when she was about 2 1/2 years old and was reading within a year. At her fourth birthday party, she read all her birthday cards out loud to the kids who were impatiently waiting for cake. When she was about six, John and I were a little nervous about her obvious intelligence. We had some intelligence tests done, just to reassure ourselves she wasn't THAT smart. She aced the tests.
Ups and downs. Highs and lows. Yin and yang. Good and bad. Contradictions defined Jennifer then and they define her now. After forty one years, little about her surprises me except her continuous stream of energy. And her incredible organizational skills. And her talents. And her kindness and her temper. And her love and loyalty. And so much more, now that I think about it. Never a dull moment with that girl, that's for sure. It's a whirlwind, all the time. (Well, except when we are sitting on the couch, dogs on our laps, watching some random TV show. Cool dullness, yes!)
Jennifer doesn't read this blog, but if she did she would read that I love her more today than ever and I admire her more than ever as well. She confounds me but she comforts me, too. She can make me swear and purr at the same time. How she does that, I do not know.
Forty one years. 41 is a prime number. I hope it's a prime year for her.
Happy Birthday, beautiful girl! Know your Momma loves you. And your Daddy does too. And so many more.....
LTBT.
.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
My Summer Reading List, So Far
Yes, I know a blog about books is a cop-out but it's all I got right now. Other than the huge angst that is my mind-set right now, the huge desire to just get in the car and keep driving, the huge need to plan a vacation that won't happen for at least four months, the huge longing for something other than this "how can I make you happy" job I currently have, this huge want that seems to thrum inside me all of the time. Other than all those things, it's all I got right now.
But books are my hiding place. Books demand nothing of me. They don't care if I read them or not. They do not ask where to eat or where to drink or crab at me about their credit card woes. Books just are. Books are my safety. Others have friends, exercise, diet, music, art, drugs. I have books. Like Mavis Staples says, to paraphrase: They take me there.
I come home, I strip off my work clothes, (which are jeans and a shirt,) and put on anything else so that I feel apart from my job. And then I either walk the dogs or simply sit down and read. Sometimes I fall asleep, napping, sitting up, for 15 minutes, but that's fine. I nap and I keep reading. The dogs sit on the couch with me and give me that space. I read and I am no longer working and no longer a tool for someones vacation enjoyment. I read and I learn or escape or just enjoy the writing. Enjoy the craft.
Here are some books I have read this summer. I have read many more that I haven't included, these are the best of the bunch. So far.
Books: Fourth of July Creek by Smith Henderson.
We Are Called To Rise by Laura McBride
Cuckoo's Calling and Silkworm by Robert Galbraith, a pseudonym of J. K. Rowling.
The Circle by Dave Eggers. (If you haven't read Zeitoun from a couple of years ago, shame on you.)
Shotgun Lovesongs by Nickolas Butler
Ordinary Grace by William Kent Krueger
The Possibilities by Kaui Hart Hemmings
Edge of Dark Water by Lansdale
OK, that should get you started. (More will follow.) All were really good or I would not have recommended them. I got all of them out of the library, although some might be a long wait. I read book reviews like many people read their emails so I get a 'heads up' about books before they are even in the NY Times book review section. Not that it makes me better, it just makes me quicker to read some new books. Thus my wait for these books was short. But still, they are all really good. Find them. They are all worth waiting for. I didn't include any synopsis, you can find that online if you want.
Without books, without the other world they provide, I don't know how I would think. My silly brain jumps all over the place all the time. Reading grounds me. It makes my mind sit still and think. For that fact alone, I am grateful to all those authors who labored over their words. I don't labor reading their words, I revel in their words. I am happy and my silly mind is happy and that's all that matters.
Think. Read.
Read. Think.
It's a good combo.
.
But books are my hiding place. Books demand nothing of me. They don't care if I read them or not. They do not ask where to eat or where to drink or crab at me about their credit card woes. Books just are. Books are my safety. Others have friends, exercise, diet, music, art, drugs. I have books. Like Mavis Staples says, to paraphrase: They take me there.
I come home, I strip off my work clothes, (which are jeans and a shirt,) and put on anything else so that I feel apart from my job. And then I either walk the dogs or simply sit down and read. Sometimes I fall asleep, napping, sitting up, for 15 minutes, but that's fine. I nap and I keep reading. The dogs sit on the couch with me and give me that space. I read and I am no longer working and no longer a tool for someones vacation enjoyment. I read and I learn or escape or just enjoy the writing. Enjoy the craft.
Here are some books I have read this summer. I have read many more that I haven't included, these are the best of the bunch. So far.
Books: Fourth of July Creek by Smith Henderson.
We Are Called To Rise by Laura McBride
Cuckoo's Calling and Silkworm by Robert Galbraith, a pseudonym of J. K. Rowling.
The Circle by Dave Eggers. (If you haven't read Zeitoun from a couple of years ago, shame on you.)
Shotgun Lovesongs by Nickolas Butler
Ordinary Grace by William Kent Krueger
The Possibilities by Kaui Hart Hemmings
Edge of Dark Water by Lansdale
OK, that should get you started. (More will follow.) All were really good or I would not have recommended them. I got all of them out of the library, although some might be a long wait. I read book reviews like many people read their emails so I get a 'heads up' about books before they are even in the NY Times book review section. Not that it makes me better, it just makes me quicker to read some new books. Thus my wait for these books was short. But still, they are all really good. Find them. They are all worth waiting for. I didn't include any synopsis, you can find that online if you want.
Without books, without the other world they provide, I don't know how I would think. My silly brain jumps all over the place all the time. Reading grounds me. It makes my mind sit still and think. For that fact alone, I am grateful to all those authors who labored over their words. I don't labor reading their words, I revel in their words. I am happy and my silly mind is happy and that's all that matters.
Think. Read.
Read. Think.
It's a good combo.
.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Still here, still working, still not much
Yes, it has been two weeks since I wrote anything here and I am a little sad about that. Well, not sad, but maybe embarrased or feeling a tiny bit like a slacker. However, we have had this conversation before and I know I am a slacker in many ways, so that's a given. Seriously, nothing is happening in my life that is even remotely interesting right now.
Well, OK, maybe a couple of things. But they are of no interest to anyone else.
"Or so she says" which is what you are all thinking. And you would be correct, it is What. I. Say. So it's the truth.
However. I have had a couple of nice "adventures" that were not relative to my work or my home and I will tell you about that tomorrow. I have Monday off. Zut Alors! What a strange thing, to have Monday off.
Tune in tomorrow. But I am realistic..... I am sure no one is reading this anyway so WTF, if I write tomorrow it's a good thing. If I don't, well you know what they say in Yakum.
Well, OK, maybe a couple of things. But they are of no interest to anyone else.
"Or so she says" which is what you are all thinking. And you would be correct, it is What. I. Say. So it's the truth.
However. I have had a couple of nice "adventures" that were not relative to my work or my home and I will tell you about that tomorrow. I have Monday off. Zut Alors! What a strange thing, to have Monday off.
Tune in tomorrow. But I am realistic..... I am sure no one is reading this anyway so WTF, if I write tomorrow it's a good thing. If I don't, well you know what they say in Yakum.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Baseball on the radio
Most people watch the Giants (or the Dodgers if you are insane) on TV. At this point in my life, I do not have broadcast TV so that is not an option in my house. If I really want to watch a game, I go to a neighborhood bar for a few innings and satisfy my need to see the "swing and a miss."
I have been listening to the games on the radio lately and it is such a different experience. Growing up, we listened to the games (those dreaded Dodgers, by the way) because we didn't always have a television. In those days, TVs had tubes and those tubes would burn out. If that happened, my mother wouldn't replace those tubes until it was World Series time. Then she would open up the back of the TV, see which tube wasn't lit up, pull it out and go to the local grocery store where they actually sold replacement tubes! You could fix your own television in the 1960's. We then had TV at least for a few months, until another tube blew out.
But for the most part we listened to games on the radio. Vince Scully was the announcer and he had the voice of a Heisman Trophy Winner. Smooth, just the right amount of pitch, not too loud, not too deep, and he exuded excitement when the game required it. I don't know any other announcer who IS baseball on the radio. At least to me.
So now I listen to the Giants games in the privacy of my own car or my own home and I love it. It is like being in a padded room, nothing to do but listen. One could do something mindless like pull weeds or paint the trim around the windows while listening but that's about it. One needs to pay attention because there are no instant replays in radio. (I sometimes have to pull over if I am driving because it requires focus that you can't give while in traffic.) The game happens. You listen. You hear it or you miss it. You can't rewind. Time slows down when you listen and what you hear is intensified by the solitary act of imagining the game. It happens entirely in your own head. You see it your way. You can see the outfielder leaping up to make that one-handed catch, you can see the runner sliding into base and you can almost see the umpire make the wrong call. It's great. Sitting on the couch with the dog, no distractions that I am willing to acknowledge, just me and the Giants. It's almost better than watching it on TV. Try it.
I have been listening to the games on the radio lately and it is such a different experience. Growing up, we listened to the games (those dreaded Dodgers, by the way) because we didn't always have a television. In those days, TVs had tubes and those tubes would burn out. If that happened, my mother wouldn't replace those tubes until it was World Series time. Then she would open up the back of the TV, see which tube wasn't lit up, pull it out and go to the local grocery store where they actually sold replacement tubes! You could fix your own television in the 1960's. We then had TV at least for a few months, until another tube blew out.
But for the most part we listened to games on the radio. Vince Scully was the announcer and he had the voice of a Heisman Trophy Winner. Smooth, just the right amount of pitch, not too loud, not too deep, and he exuded excitement when the game required it. I don't know any other announcer who IS baseball on the radio. At least to me.
So now I listen to the Giants games in the privacy of my own car or my own home and I love it. It is like being in a padded room, nothing to do but listen. One could do something mindless like pull weeds or paint the trim around the windows while listening but that's about it. One needs to pay attention because there are no instant replays in radio. (I sometimes have to pull over if I am driving because it requires focus that you can't give while in traffic.) The game happens. You listen. You hear it or you miss it. You can't rewind. Time slows down when you listen and what you hear is intensified by the solitary act of imagining the game. It happens entirely in your own head. You see it your way. You can see the outfielder leaping up to make that one-handed catch, you can see the runner sliding into base and you can almost see the umpire make the wrong call. It's great. Sitting on the couch with the dog, no distractions that I am willing to acknowledge, just me and the Giants. It's almost better than watching it on TV. Try it.
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