The Perfect Day

Los Angeles, California

A cautionary tale: spending a month out of each year in Carmel (or Santa Fe, or anywhere else you might find idyllic) is dangerous. And I can, more or less, encapsulate the danger in one word: reentry. This is the term which Billy and I use for the return to our life in Los Angeles. While we try in every imaginable way to fool ourselves, the truth is that we spend eleven months in Los Angeles each year, and only one in Carmel. No matter how hard we try to turn that fact around, it stubbornly persists.

It's not that I don't, to borrow from Randy Newman, love L.A. I have to say that I have a fondness for LA, even with all of its negatives (like traffic, that 'industry' and the far-flung logistics of the city), as well as tender memories of the Los Angeles from my earlier years (as written about in the post entitled The One Year Anniversary of Neighborhood Chaos. Read it here, for free!). But, as in all places where one lives, our lives here are intricately complicated by the stuff of day-to-day reality -- aging parents, banking, business, health, home repair, etc. You have at least some of the same responsibilities and concerns, I am sure, so I'll spare us all the details.

We consider our time in Carmel to be a retreat. And, retreats have loomed very large in our legend. There was a decade or so when we actually scheduled retreat weekends at our home. We would block out an entire weekend, and not make any plans except to stay at home. There were rules to go along with these weekends which included the prohibition of all work except basic zen chores like meal preparation and clean up. We also prohibited television watching (no big deal today as we watch less and less of it), though watching movies was allowed. I would stock the house with good stuff to eat, drink, read (magazines), and watch (movies). I also bought bath gels, lotions, and scented candles. We lit the house at night with candles, and, if it were summertime, we went barefooted, after hanging out by the pool all day. We used to schedule these retreats about four times a year, and we looked forward to them. But eventually, life took over that time and space. In Carmel, however, the retreat lives, albeit in slightly different form.

We suspend a lot of our LA activity when we're in Carmel. Billy doesn't work there, and I don't dance. We walk most days. We cook a lot. I still have to do some basic accounting for home and business, but it's nothing compared to what I do at home. I get to write each day. And I am free from the clutter of home life which constantly taunts me, reminding me of how disorganized I am, or of how much more work I should be doing. It's hard not to feel overwhelmed when everywhere you look there is a job to be done, or a repair to be scheduled, or a renovation to be undertaken. So after I return home, I try to combat this by focusing on the smaller projects which can be more easily undertaken. Baby steps.

However, currently, I find myself facing what feels more like a big, old giant step, as now, home again, I am tackling a pinnacle of that aforementioned clutter by attempting to organize my office. It simply has to be done, and done now. I have this theory that there is a moment in chaos when you either get a handle on it all, or you lose it forever. I once witnessed my mother-in-law passing this point in time, and subsequently losing control of her garage. And, my office is now teetering on that brink. So, upon returning from the bliss of Carmel, I knew that I would need to face the hell of my office space. And that is what I am currently doing. I call this the Healy Office Organization Project, or HOOP. And I'm just starting to get rolling (forgive me, I couldn't resist).

As in all large undertakings, there must be some impetus, some motivating factor, something that keeps your mojo going while you are digging in. And for me, that is the perfect day. You know how you don't get very many of those in life? I'm talking about the day that is perfect from beginning to end. Everything works, everything falls into place, everything goes all glimmering (again, as F. Scott once wrote). And, you actually realize it while it's happening. Lucky for me, I had one of those days while I was in Carmel.

It was a Sunday that started off by being a good hair day. No small thing. Billy had come back to Carmel the night before at the end of a rainy day, and we had enjoyed martinis, an artichoke, and a duck tamale in the bar at the Rio Grill. We went to Mass at the Mission Basilica that next morning, and the sun was streaming in through the windows while we were there. After church, we met our friend John at La Bicyclette in town. We enjoyed a lovely lunch in this space filled with sunlight, and laughed a lot with John who is easily the funniest man we know.

After lunch, we raced back to our little house to meet our friends, Diana and Brendan. Diana is a BFF and one of my favorite fristers. We met on a Caribbean cruise in 1995 -- both traveling with our mothers. And, as I wrote in a previous post entitled Fristers (read it here, for free!), we went on to travel three more times together with our moms. Diana's husband, Brendan, is warm, wonderful, and always fun to be around. Billy and Brendan quickly became good friends, so we always look forward to being in their company. That evening, we went to Mission Ranch for drinks at sunset, then to a local tapas restaurant which we had saved to try for the first time with them. We drank a lot of sangria, shared a variety of interesting dishes, then hurried home for an evening of . . . and I'm so sorry, but in truth, it is a card game which is simply called . . . Shithead.

Now, we didn't invent nor name this game, and we have tried to come up with something different to call it. For awhile we went french, calling it something like Merde. But Shithead is its name, and Shithead it has stayed (I'm starting to get used to writing this over and over, did you notice?). Diana and Brendan's daughter taught it to them several years ago, and they taught it to us. And it has stuck. We play it every time we are together, sometimes into the early morning hours. One summer when they visited us, we decided that whoever won each hand had to display a talent. This ran the gamut from Billy manipulating his hands so that it looked like his thumb was cut off (Billy never forgets any trick or joke he learned in elementary school), to Brendan singing in the voice of Daffy Duck (or so he said, when in reality he was imitating Porky Pig, which we all immediately pointed out to him . . . like, that's not Daffy Duck, that's Porky Pig! we all cried in unison), to Diana singing the Canadian National Anthem in first English, then in French. What did I do? I whistled piercingly with my fingers in my mouth, and joined Diana in singing, from memory, Frank Mills from the musical, Hair. But, truth be told, the game is almost as much fun without the talent show. So on this night in Carmel, we just played it (Shithead . . . see I just wrote it again).

That was that. It was a perfect day. A ten. And the afterglow of it stays with me as our rough reentry begins to smooth, and I begin to proceed with the HOOP. Thank goodness for the memory of that day! A memory that can keep me going until the next perfect day occurs. I hope you have one soon, and I thank you for reading my blog.

Come Sunday

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

I'm nearing the end of our month in Carmel. The signs are everywhere. The kitchen larder is depleted, the last glow of the sunset now disperses around six in the evening, and the tents are up at Pebble Beach for the upcoming clambake (AT&T Pro-Am for you youngsters).

About a third of our stay here in Carmel is spent with house guests, and with all those house guests, there is always the ubiquitous laundry. I do all my own housecleaning here, and while I probably couldn't pass a white-glove test, I do like things clean and tidy. I spend one-third of my time here alone. This is the time that is meant to be productive. In addition to my blog, I am editing a novel, working on the outline of another novel, and writing a self-help book which I intend to publish online (I know, I know . . . another self-help book and what do I know, anyway?). So, I'm kept busy. And, right now, I am alone.

For the other third of our time here it is just the two of us. We walk each morning, go to Carmel Basilica for Mass on Sundays, go out for drinks and/or to eat, and to the movies occasionally. We cook a lot, enjoying the luxury of the six-burner Wolf range at the home we rent here (though I've never figured out a meal that would require firing up all six burners). When Billy is back in LA, I talk to him several times during the day, as well as at bedtime. We are partners in our business, so we need to touch base regarding taxes, finances and other sundry issues. And, I like to phone him when I'm, say, driving past Carmel Mission on my way back from Safeway. Just to give him a visual. I let him know what kind of a sunset there was. And how far I walk each morning. But it's not the same as having him here.

I don't want to sound too soppy here. After all, we've been married for decades. On the other hand, maybe that is why I never get used to being without him. I feel as if he is a part of my life much like air and water. Essential. He makes me smile, he makes me laugh. He makes me crazy, and sometimes I want to kill him (there it is -- the smoking gun!). But I am still enraptured of the life that I have spent with this man who talked me into marrying him shortly after we met.

Billy's mom always says that I was the "making" of him. But I don't agree. Billy was always destined to be who he now is -- responsible, successful, and infinitely generous. He enjoys life and the people in his life. He has a family-instilled work ethic with a business mission to help people get what they want. And, more importantly, a personal mantra for his life which is Happy Wife, Happy Life (ok, he got this from our friend, John. But I have to say, to my good fortune, he has embraced it!) . I hope I make him happy as well, outside of the times when I make him crazy, and when he probably wants to kill me (again with the smoking gun . . .). Well, we always said that divorce wasn't an option. Homicide, perhaps . . .

So, potential marital violence aside, as the time approaches, when Billy returns to Carmel to help me pack up; after which we will leave our Brigadoon and drive back down Highway 101 towards Los Angeles; I begin to hear Jimmy Buffett's song Come Monday. Except Billy will be returning on Sunday. This Sunday.

I always like to prepare something special when I am expecting him back into town. But right now, at the end of our trip, I need to make something that won't require buying a lot of ingredients. Something that we will be sure to use up in the few days that are left. And, preferably something that will leave the house with a wonderful fragrance so that he will notice it when he walks in. I'm not going to bake bread though that probably gives the most fragrant air to any home. But no, and no. So, here's what I came up with that has a minimum of ingredients with the maximum of flavor and aroma. Dos recipes, the first originating in the Los Angeles Times, the second adapted from an upcoming cookbook from NYC chef April Bloomfield. I found the original recipe for it in the January 2011 Food & Wine Magazine, but have adapted it as follows down below. But, first:

Caramelized Onions

6        large onions
1/2   cup oil
2        teaspoons kosher salt

Cut off stem and root ends of the onions, then halve lengthwise, and peel away brown skin. Cut onions lengthwise into one-fourth inch slides. Place in heavy-bottomed pot.

Pour over oil and salt; toss together. Set over medium heat, cover, and cook until onions begin to wilt, stirring every ten to fifteen minutes to keep from sticking. As onions soften then will significantly reduce in size.

After twenty or thirty minutes, onions will be quite soft and will begin to stick to the bottom. Reduce the heat to low, and continue cooking with the pot covered, stirring every ten minutes or so to keep from sticking. Continue cooking and stirring as indicated above for another twenty-five or thirty minutes. At this point the onions will be silky and swimming in moisture. Remove lid and increase heat back to medium. Cook, stirring frequently, until the moisture has mostly evaporated and the onions have begun to turn golden, about twenty-five to thirty more minutes.

Once again, reduce heat to low and continue cooking, stirring every fifteen minutes or so until onions really begin to brown more deeply, about two more hours (yes, two more hours! You weren't planning to go out, were you?). At this point you'll need to watch the onions very carefully, stirring every couple of minutes or so. Cook until the onions have reduced to a deeply colored, mahogany marmalade, watching that they do not dry out, which may take up to an hour. There is a fine line between the deep richness of caramelized onions, and charring them, so watch out. Color is the key, and it may not take the full hour (when I have cut this recipe in half, the time is definitely shorter).

Approximately eight servings, depending upon how used (*see below).


Apples in Balsamic-Caramel Sauce

2     tablespoons unsalted butter
3     pounds Granny Smith apples (approx. 6)
        peeled, cored, and cut into thin wedges
1      cup sugar
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1      cup water

In a large skillet, melt butter. Add apples and cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally until browned in spots, about five minutes. Sprinkle sugar over, reduce heat to medium, stirring occasionally, until caramelized, about two to three minutes.

Add balsamic vinegar and water, and bring to a boil. Simmer over low heat until the apples are tender and the sauce is syrupy, about four minutes. Serve warm.

Six servings


*Now, both of these can be used in a lot of diverse ways. The onions can be layered between potatoes and baked in a gratin. I have stirred them into macaroni and cheese made with gruyere cheese. They can be used in scrambled eggs, spooned on toast spread with ricotta cheese, or piled on top of sausage served in buns. Think of them as a ingredient, as well as a condiment.

The apples are wonderful as a side dish with anything cheesy -- the aforementioned mac & cheese, for example, or a cheese souffle. They are also excellent with chicken and with pork chops or tenderloin. And, guess what! They can also be spooned on toast spread with ricotta as mentioned above. Last but not least, they can be deliciously ladled over vanilla ice cream. Wow. I think I've just decided on Sunday night's dessert . . .

You see the thread that runs through these dishes: caramel. Yum. I even thought about entitling this post Sweets for the Sweet, but I knew that anyone who read that would never stop throwing up. So, a cooler head prevailed. You can get into a lot of trouble when writing a blog if you give way to your impulses. Besides, that song kept running through my head.

So, on Sunday, I will get up in the morning, drink my tea, and make my way to the Basilica for Mass. I will go directly from there to the little Monterey airport where Billy will be waiting for me after having flown in that morning from LA. As always, I will glad to see him again, even though we will have spoken that morning. Amidst all the satisfying things there are to do here in Monterey County, one of my favorite things to do while I am here in Carmel, is to welcome Billy back. And that is what I will be doing . . . come Sunday. Thank you for reading my blog (and welcome back, BH).