The Itchy Butt

The heat wave continues unabated. Ed worked from home to avoid the pre-Labor Day traffic (which is supposed to be thrice as bad as ever due to an impending Bay Bridge closure – for the entire weekend. The prediction is that Highway 101 through Marin will be a parking lot for three days.) as did LB. At mid-day LB joined me at the pool, she reading and doing the respite thing in the sun and shade, dabbling her toes in the water from time to time for a cool off while I swam a mile. (Yes, a stellar, fabulous, exhausting mile!) I’m going to have to start putting on sun screen because the freckles on my face are darkening and it reminds me of when I was an awkward kid.

Coming home I made Ed fetch me ice cream while I reposed in the back cottage in the cool breeze of the air conditioner and surfed the internet for nothing whatsoever. And then I went and picked up some leave-in hair conditioner to hopefully combat the effects of chlorine and since I was out, you know, a slice of pizza – which just made me hungry for the left over chicken enchilada in the fridge so of course I popped that in the microwave. Which all was chaser to the ice cream sandwich which started it all off before leaving the pool. And I act all mystified and bewildered when I get heartburn. Ha! (Yeah, hmmm… wherever is all this weight coming from, eh?)

LB’s coming over shortly, we’re taking our evening hike a little later in the evening in hopes of escaping the heat. Ms Honey Bee didn’t get a walk at all yesterday (way too hot) and today we’re leaving far later than normal… she likely presumes I’ve abandoned her needs as she’s looking rather despondent and forgotten at my feet. And little does she know she’s getting a bath when we return this evening… she’s got what we call “the itchy butt.”

I’m quite happy to report that I actually had a fairly decent night’s sleep last night. All is good is Zuzuland.

Woot!

The lavender simple syrup is a grand success!! I’m drinking my own home brewed lavender soda as I write. It’s perfectly wonderful. I’m beside myself. Look, there I am. See. Beside myself. Hey… gimme that soda.

The MOMA in SOMA

I was absolutely thrilled when I spied a store in San Francisco dedicated solely to the making of cream puffs, only to taste said puff to find it filled with CUSTARD. They should be shot for false advertising. If they want to sell some errant invention called Custard Puffs, let ‘em have it. But they lie and they are wrong, all wrong!

I went to The City today (Saturday) for the MOMA exhibit on Picasso and American Art. It was interesting to see the original Picassos side-by-side with the American artists/art they inspired. It was a small but fun exhibit, thanks to LB (whose place of employment offers their employees free MOMA membership – we all got in free, Gail, LB and I!) There was time to rush through floors two and three as well (before LB had to be back in our cozy town for a dinner engagement.)

The SF MOMA (originally on Van Ness, now in its new location near Yerba Buena Park in the shopping district in Soma) was one of the first museums to recognize photography as a fine art form. It’s thus always had a great photo collection since 1936 - that I invariably draw inspiration from. I spied a great collection of framed real estate photographs that I do believe are going to inspire a fabulous little copy-cat installation of my own. If I get it off the ground, I’ll post the images.

My Beautiful Launderette

Last night we went to The French laundry in Yountville. I’d like to leave it at just a big amazing WOW but somehow that doesn’t seem quite enough. It was spectacular. I wish I had the menu in front of me and could just wax poetic on each culinary stanza of this gastronomic orchestra.

This was a really lovely way to kick start my vacation week. (I did have to work for a few hours on Saturday – so in the world of me – the full face vacation commenced on Sunday.) I spent Sunday morning in my yard, gardening. The poppies are starting to bloom and there’ll be a point, likely even by the week’s end, where the front yard will be ablaze of bright orange – an explosion of color. Sometimes I catch people standing at my fence, looking at the dancing color catching wind and bouncing under the sunlight, smiling. It’s a great thing – such a little package of poppy seeds.. who knew they’d spread like wildfire. That’s the thing about natives – they flourish in what other’s may deem to be a hostile environment. It’s what they know. It’s the conditions they thrive best in. Who are we to judge?

Ironically, a neighbor has planted two too many blueberry bushes and he’s told me I can have them. I’ll have to condition the soil with acid to coax the things into fruiting – those things that grow wild in the woods outside of Bemidji. The blueberry bushes were never in the plan… but who can say no to a blueberry bush?

So last night we were all transported to a very decadent land of the most amazing food on the planet. I’ve never had food like this before in my life. When it comes to food – it was truly one of those defining moments. Oh, yes. I see! Now, for the first time in my life, I’ve tasted what it can be. And I admit, it was a very decadent thing to do and I’m honestly not wholly clear if I should boast about the experience (which I’d like to do, because I’m caught up in the excitement like a child who has just discovered the state fair for the first time) or if I should be a bit shameful (because likely the price of the meal could feed an entire family in a developing nation for over a year…. Maybe two… families.. and years… and I wonder if any singular event like that can ever be justified.) I think it might be okay to at once be tremendously grateful and apologetic – so that is it – both things.

There are maybe a little over fifty restaurants in the world that receive a Michelin three star rating (on a scale of one to three – where most of the world’s restaurants don’t even rate a one.) Of those, a mere five are in the United States (I think the country boasting the most three star restaurants is France.) Of those five, only one is in California – and that would be The French Laundry. The master chef (Tom Keller) has opened another restaurant in New York, which is one of the other three star restaurants in the United States. It’s really, obviously, all about the chef. Restaurants are mere brick and mortar to their movable feasts. And you know, I’ve just always wanted to taste three star food because I’m certainly no three start cook (or two star cook… and really likely not even a one star cook.) In comparison, I’m cooking cardboard. Because it’s mycardboard, I’m occasionally proud of it – but it’s cardboard nonetheless.

Something To Look Forward To

It’s another stunning day in the Northland.

I’ve been quiet of late, not terribly inspired to write. I don’t know why. Work stuff is work stuff – no new news to report on that front. I’m trying to breathe deeply and trust that moving on is good and right and remember that almost anyone leaving any work situation after many years is likely riddled with mixed emotions about it – both good and bad. Especially the bad shouldn’t be given too much weight. Looking back I know I’ll remember this career fondly, be proud of what I’ve accomplished and know I stayed just a few years too long despite my better judgment. It will be my lesson to listen and act in a more timely manner to the dictates of my conscience and heart. Yes, I remain a little nervous about it all. But somehow I know that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Tonight we’re all about royal decadence. I have reservations at The French Laundry. In the realm of Things To Do Before I Die, The French Laundry has been one of the things on the list. I’m totally stoked. One possible down side is that my reservations are for five and the original additional three all backed out (that’s another story.) We’re bringing one of Ed’s coworkers and his coworker’s wife and brother.

Food, Glorious Food!

Max and I met for lunch in the dining room at the Palace Hotel. We split the arugula Salad and I had this wonderful organic chicken topped with fennel salad, oranges and a light orange sauce (with a few capers thrown in for measure.) We split desert too – something like a cream puff with Bavarian cream, candied cherries on the side. It was all really, really, really nummy. Afterwards I strolled the ferry building shops until it was closer to time to board (picked up some herbs du provence at LuLu and some lapsong souchong tea from the Imperial Tea Court to compare to the Silk Road’s version I recently ordered from Canada (which was on the doorstep when I arrived back from DC last night – around midnight – yahoo!)

Might I say that I’m totally digging on the lapsong souchong tea. Ed and I stayed up until about 2 am sampling the Silk Road’s stuff. It’s absolutely enchanting. (I’m still in search of the perfect glass tea kettle in order to try out the tea flowers that Cassie gave me last weekend.)

Okay… enough about food for awhile (though Crème Violette sounds divine, doesn’t it?)

I Squander That

It’s like, at the end, there’s this surprise quiz: Am I proud of me? I gave my life to become the person I am right now. Was it worth what I paid? - Richard Bach

Saturday Ms Cassie came for a stroll and in the evening Cookie arrived (quite late) to spend the night following a celebration for Hannah’s fortieth birthday. It was a great soirée – a potluck, eighties music, dancing, periodic turning up of the lights for words or song or what have you. It was an absolutely lovely event.

I’ve always erroneously believed a homophone was actually a homonym - me and my errant ways. It’s perfectly shameful!

In the afternoon, G drove out for another hike around Bon Tempe and I scurried home for a hot tub before an hour and a half massage with the magical Lomi Tati. I arrived home at 6 and I was like jelly. I skipped dinner (bad girl, no donut) and ate a whole package of Boursin fine herb and garlic cheese on cracked pepper water crackers. It was totally decadent.

Like Bach said, I gave my life to become to person I am. Is it worth what I paid? Or do I need to give my life to become something I value more? I think it was worth it to give my life to become what I became. And now it’s worth it to become something different. I’m merely having a difficult time reconciling some competing sets of values. I guess I know, intellectually, that art and politics, social change – they’re not really competing - indeed they can be incredibly complementary. The time I want to give them in my life and how I feel about them, however, is in competition – or maybe simply at odds.

I’m incredibly blessed and yet sometimes I squander that with my angst.

The Fun's Just Started

The world keeps ending but new people too dumb to know it keep showing up as if the fun’s just started. - John Updike

I’ve recently discovered Eddie Izzard and I love him. Maybe this is like my discovery of the reality TV show, Survivor. Everyone rolls their eyes, and I can actually hear them thinking “that’s so last millennium.” I suppose the result of not having a television is that I’ll never be a hip trend setter in the glamorous world of pop culture. If you don’t know what’s happening until it comes out on DVD, it’s hard to even feign being bleeding edge about such things.

I do in fact feel a great deal of optimism about the aught seven. It’s going to be a good year.

It’s been a terrific day. I woke to morning coffee – soft and lazy, blog reading, internet perusing like some people read the newspaper (but without the crinkly pages or newsprint on my fingertips.) LB called and asked if I wanted to hike today, so I took a shower, did a few loads of laundry, emptied and filled the dishwasher and dressed for a sojourn with the Honey Bee. It was a brilliant crisp blue perfect day. I took my camera but I wasn’t inspired to take pictures. After all was hiked and done I walked to the post office (tubes on the way, Alison!) and then to the bank and then home. Secret loves these little tool about town things. She walks about like she owns the place, little captain of her band of grrrrrrl gang.

I heated up some perfect chicken vegetable soup. Have I mentioned what a soup kick I’ve been on since the weather turned? Each week I roast a chicken and after a fabulous feast of that I start deconstructing the bird for all its pieces, the good meat in this pile for the soup, the stuff we don’t like for the Monster Girl, the carcass in a pot with an onion, three chile d’arbole, celery scraps, garlic, parsley, a whole mess of seasoning for a three hour boil and simmer into stock. The house smells brilliant and alive. There’s something about using the whole thing that feels so graceful. When the time comes the next day to add the potatoes, celery, carrots, corn and onion (when I’m feeling frisky a daub of chipotle paste for a kick) it feels wholesome and good. Anyways, that was lunch, a small bowl – a late lunch, around four.

After this I hopped on my mountain bike (which is in bad need of biannual maintenance) and road for a good hour up the back side of the mountain to five corners, from Phoenix Lake, down through Deer Park and then back home. I’ve been rather lazy and I haven’t done this trek in a while (I could tell.) My back (ouch) felt it more than legs or lungs (yes, I’m even optimistic I’ll lose that weight I gained when I stopped smoking frill’n three years now…) So after the last mile or so, which is a lovely coast down hill the whole way, I pulled up to the house, tossed the bike aside, tossed the clothes aside and plopped in the hot tub with a shot of top shelf Captain Morgan’s spiced rum and wallowed in the warmth under a quickly setting sun. Stars illuminated in a deep indigo blue night sky behind the silhouette of the towering redwood trees.

Once the heat had found its way deep to my marrow, revitalizing a kernel of me that felt spent and done, I dressed and LB and I went to my favorite fondue restaurant for a seven oclock reservation from which we just returned, just a shy bit before ten (talk about slow food!) It was awesome (as always.) I just finished folding the laundry of which I spoke earlier and I’m cozied up to the fireplace with a good book, a tall cool glass of blood orange Italian soda and that electric throw (which mom contends will give me cancer, but three cheers for the deadly electric throw! Every home should have several!) You know, if sort of feels like the fun just started….

Watch This Spot

There’s a pile of lavender soaking in a pot of vodka on the kitchen counter. I plucked nearly every flower head from the plant in the driveway median. This lavender, a sticky monkey and a plug of native grasses are the only things that have taken root and taken off in what I’ve come to endearingly call the kill zone.

I’m in somewhat of a funk today – though I don’t rightly know why. I think I need to go for a walk and think. I’ll get back to you on the other side of it…

Watch this spot…. I call it the other side of it. I hiked near ten miles, soaked in a hot tub and ate English cheese to get here. I took photographs too. I’ve been lounging and reading the fabu digital photo book that Cassie gave me for my birthday. Thus far it’s saying that to take good photos I need to buy more shit. Secret Agent Dog is belly up on my right, snoring at the sky (okay, the ceiling.) There are random thoughts fleeting around the room. I grasp at them like buzzing flies - trying to catch them, make them stop. Here are just a few:

I always thought that Catholic school girl thing was an act. I’m still mystified near thirty years later that it was devastatingly real. How do you reconcile all those kisses?

On days when my world is small and I don’t leave the house much, I get pretty bitchy. It’s like somewhere inside I must believe I can control the world by yelling at it or being mean to it. Maybe I’m just looking for a reaction.

One of the recent Google “word of the day” was swan song, which clearly isn’t a word and should more rightly be in phrase of the day or couple a words of the day. See above.

Drive By

Cassie did a drive by lasagna yesterday. When I arrived home from my doctor’s appointment in The City to be slammed by deadlines, frazzled and preoccupied with the magnitude of work before me, there before me, as opposed to a magnitude of work, was one of Cassie’s lasagna’s – sitting in a box in the car port.

I must pause and give thanks. It was unexpected. It was perfect, I mean the most perfect thing anyone could have done for me yesterday.

The world has been spinning around, I can’t seem to catch my breath and then out of the blue there’s this amazing food, made with love and it’s not only the nourishment – it just saved me over an hour I would have spent cooking and there just wasn’t a better gesture of kindness, friendship or even help anyone could have extended. It was just perfect, at the right time and it filled me with tears and joy all at once. She’s the bomb.

I don’t love her because she makes the best lasagna on the planet – but let’s just say it doesn’t hurt (grin.)

((Thank you so much, honey. I love you dearly!))

Mean Food

“I don’t eat tofu,” I told her. “I think Tofu is Soylent Green.”

“Soil and green?” She asked.

“No. Soylent Green. S-O-Y-L-E-N-T.”

“It’s bean curd,” she says. “It’s a soy product.”

“No. No. Soylent Green. Like Soylent Green is people.”

She looked at me puzzled.

“Anyway,” I went on. “I don’t like tofu. And I don’t like sprouts either.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I don’t understand sprouts.”

“Spider legs,” I replied. “Sprouts are like eating spider legs.”

We both agreed green peppers were terrible. They corrupt everything.