Lauren Read My Blog?!?

Los Angeles, California

I first started thinking about writing a blog back one summer ago, when I met Andie, who had just started a cool blog. Andie is a friend of Lauren's. Lauren is a lovely young woman whom I know from Tahoe. There is more backstory here (not surprisingly involving a bar, martinis, and what have you), but that's on a strictly need-to-know basis. Suffice it to say that when we were back in Tahoe in August, I asked Lauren about Andie, and told her how our encounter and conversation had led me to blogdom. I then mentioned the name of my blog to Lauren. I think it's a funny title, and since she knows Sandra, I thought she might think so, too.

Meanwhile, on the blog front: when I began my blog last January, I made a personal commitment to write at least two posts per month. That was enough to give me time to write and edit, while at the same time being little enough to assuage those pesky feelings about the self-absorptive, read about me here factor (see below). And I pretty much honored this commitment, and was writing merrily along for about six months. But in August, I got discouraged. You see, originally, I didn't want my friends to read my blog. In fact, the few friends who I even told that I was writing a blog, I admonished to not follow it. In fact, to not even read it. I was still struggling with the "read all about me here" aspect of blogging. But little-by-little, some of my friends did begin to follow my blog. Now, no one can tell this by looking at my blog, as I opted to leave the followers list off of the blog (after having some problems this aspect of the template, but that's beside the point). Anyway, along about August I was in a funk regarding family issues and the heat, and I began to think along lines that are dangerous to any project. Namely, what is the point?

But then . . . but then . . . I got an email from Sandra! And she reported that she had gotten an alert from Lauren, who had read my last blog post and mentioned that I had experienced a rough week in my care of my mother. I was astounded. Lauren read my blog? "Lauren read my blog!" I told Billy. And we looked at each other (me with that open-mouthed, trouty look that one can take on when they receive surprising news). Then, I had a little epiphany. If Lauren read my blog, I thought. Who else has read it?

Stats. There is a tab on Blogspot that is entitled Stats. I placed the cursor on that tab. I clicked. Holy hits!!! As in, hits from China, Japan, Canada, one of the Scandinavian countries (I get them confused), and one (1!) lone hit from Great Britain. Quite a number of hits from the US. Of course the post with the most hits was the one with the Michael Jackson tag. I suppose in the back of my mind I might have known this, and that was why I tagged it thus. But I have been hit on from all over the world. Now, who knows who has actually read my blog, or more importantly, who has revisited it. But right now, I don't care. I am energized and, as a result I am once more ready to rock and write. Because people in China have perhaps read my blog. People in Denmark, or Sweden, or Norway may have read my blog. And that guy . . . or that chick in Great Britain just might have read my blog! But the real kicker wasn't about them, global community that they comprise. The heartwarming gee-whiz moment was when I learned that Lauren read my blog. Thank you all (especially Lauren) for reading my blog.

Don't Change A Hair For Me

Los Angeles, California


Know that cheesy program where actors are asked what's your favorite word? Well, without being asked I will volunteer that my most ambivalent word is: change. In my innermost being, I truly equate change with, well, death. To say that change has been hard for me is equatable to calling the Grand Canyon that little crevice. Moving briefly to Washington DC when I was in sixth grade: hard. Moving permanently to a new neighborhood and school when I was in seventh grade: harder. I struggled through every transition from junior to high school from high school to college from that college to the one where I received my degree. Every relationship and friendship left behind still haunts me -- I didn't want things to change. But somewhere along the line, with the inevitable though tentative step toward some level of emotional maturity, I did realize that change is a catalyst for growth. And growth is something I find pretty OK, albeit hard to come by.


One of the few areas where I mostly accept change graciously is with most of the seasons. I'm not real big on winter, but that is about the shorter days. And, I have to remind you that I spend one month out of every winter in Carmel. That totally, as Rick said in Casablanca: takes the sting out of being occupied (though I believe he was talking about champagne, and the Nazi invasion of Paris). Ah well. As of today we are just one week short of the first day of autumn. And, autumn I must reiterate from my last post, is my favorite season.


Here in Southern California, autumn sneaks up on us surreptitiously. It is still hot. And it is fire season, as in brush fires. Still, pumpkin patches pop up overnight, though the pumpkins often soften and perish in the heat. And, in the air conditioned splendor of my neighborhood grocery, I find the arrival of a new crop of crisp apples. Galas, Granny Smiths, Macintoshes, and my favorite, Fujis. I love apples, and I love what goes with apples: cinnamon, cheddar cheese, rum (in apple cider). I love the look of a bowl of polished apples. And I especially love the taste of cooked apples. I'm not much of a pie baker. So when I attempt to peel apples in one long spiral, a la Sleepless in Seattle, what I do with those apples is this:

Apple Crisp


4    cups sliced, pared tart apples
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup oatmeal (not quick-cooking)
1    teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/3 cup butter, softened


Heat oven to 375 degrees. Grease a square baking dish, 8x8x2 inches. Place apple slices in pan. Toss together remaining ingredients except butter. Cut in butter with pastry blender or two knives until it resembles coarse meal. Sprinkle over apples, clumping mixture as you do this.


Bake for thirty minutes or until apples are tender and topping is golden brown. Serve warm or at room temperature, with light cream or vanilla ice cream.


Six servings, more or less -- it being autumn, and some of us needing to bulk up a bit for the approaching winter.

My birthday is in October, arriving each year, as it does, very close to Halloween. And I do relish that time of year. I never had post-birthday letdown, even as a young child. The day after the candles were blown out and the presents were opened, I had to turn my attention to my Halloween costume. Today, I still enjoy my birthday, then Halloween. Enjoy a season when one thing leads to another. So, I guess some things never change. Thanks for reading my blog!