Alone Again, Or

Los Angeles, California

My houseguests have left, and I am sitting at my kitchen table, next to the window, during a thunderstorm. Summer thunderstorms are not common in our area, but not totally rare either. So far, no rain has fallen, but the thunder has been cracking-loud, startling both Ana, my homekeeper, and myself. We had the most wicked heatwave just two weeks ago, after quite mild June, and early July, weather. Weather sites reported that the high temperature for Friday, July 8th, in my area of Los Angeles, was 117. The following day, my Lyft driver reported that we were in a cooling trend. His car showed the temperature as 112, whereas the day before it had read 122.

I Lyfted to Todd and Christopher's home to attend the Jennifer Hudson concert at The Hollywood Bowl with them, and with Christopher's friend, Brian. It was a steamy night, but special, as always, to be there under the stars with good friends. Christopher prepared ceviche, which we lettuce-wrapped, and an excellent farro salad.

This past weekend the weather was perfect for hanging out by the pool with Karen and Greg. We celebrated Bastille Day with Sheet-Pan Coq au Vin, brie and bread, and ratatouille. I baked a peach cake. Joel came for a rack of lamb dinner the next night. Ratatouille again, but diverting the brie to a Port Salut. In the beating-things-to-death-with-a-stick department, I can never have enough cheese, if it is really good cheese. Fat, in one of its most tantalizingly, party-in-my-mouth incarnations. It also has protein, though anyone who eats it for protein is surely fooling themselves, for it is certainly not a good choice due to the high fat content. Rather, it's a treat, a guilty-pleasure, and much, much better for dessert, or as the anchor of that occasional, decadent, guilty-pleasure meal with crusty french bread (nary a whole-wheat grain in sight) and some mustard and tarragon vinaigrette-dressed leaves. I get excited just thinking about it.

This has been one of the best summers in recent years, shared with lots of friends and events. I am free of responsibility except to Joel and my other peeps, and to my house. I think I deserved a good summer. After all that has happened in my life, including the puzzling loss of a close friendship last year, I now accept that depression can descend and encircle me without much notice. My therapist and I parted last summer, with her reminding me that I have all the tools in my toolbox. I have to keep an eye on that toolbox! As well as to make sure I have a balance of the elements that keep us all upright in our lives: Spirituality; satisfying intimacy; soul-touching friendships; meaningful endeavors; fun and joyfulness; exercise; varied and interesting diet (sans kale and quinoa for the most part); sleep; reading quality literature; listening to music across the spectrum of genres, except rap and hip hop, and not even Hamilton hip hop (the kale of Broadway... I know, I know. I'm just saying).

The boys of summer, the Los Angeles Dodgers, are now in first place in their division at the start of the second half of the season. With three good opportunities to see them play coming up: in Oakland August 7th; Seattle later that month, and late September in San Francisco. Lynnette and Jim will be in attendence at two out of the three, so there's an opportunity to enjoy games with my favorite Dodger opponent fans! All the while staying out of Dodger Stadium. What a good thing...

But, with all this fun and the frivolity of a barefoot and candlelit summer, the truth is, it's pretty ugly out there right now. My suggestion is to do what I am doing: try to shelter from what is going on with the people in our country, and in the world. For now, take time out to enjoy the fun and leisure of summer as it moves along. Swim, drink IPA and rosé, laugh crazily as you play games with friends (we've been playing a baseball game that is hilarious). Read good books by the pool or on the beach. Travel to far or near places. Have gratitude for all that you can. For between the spaces of pain, loss, fear, and the worst: disillusionment, there truly can be blissful contentment. Sometimes you just have to take a great big breath, reach out, and appreciate it all. Life comes with no warranties; and a big price tag. You can't haggle, so just hand your credit card over. But always make sure first that you are signed up for the rewards.

Thank you for spending time reading this blog post during your lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer!

Under the Encino Sun

Los Angeles, California (duh...)

Someone has pointed out to me that I have been beating the "some come through in extraordinary ways" thing to death with a stick (see previous posts. Lots of previous posts). I suppose that speaks to how much that sad experience continues to affect me. As far as continuing to remark on it, well, frankly, repetition could easily be my middle name. However, even I can recognize that enough is enough (at least for now). So, with a nod to those who know who they are (and how much they are appreciated)... I will do my best to try to move on. 

Did you read the book Under the Tuscan Sun, or see the (guilty pleasure) movie of the same name? While not recommending either, I am reminded, and I may have written before (again, with the repetition/middle name) about my philosophy, that if you get one good recipe out of a cookbook, it was worth the price (if you are one of us who actually does pay for your books, and if not, shame, shame). Anyway, there was one worthwhile thing that I got out of either the book or the movie (details don't matter here). It was that you start in one place, in your home or rental, and make it yours. You polish, you bring flowers to that space, you prop up that special photo in that special frame, next to the candle. You start.

I have a decently-sized property and it is a lot to manage. And I want it to look feed-my-soul beautiful. Especially in the summer. So this past weekend, I worked hours and hours, pruning, cutting back, planting and encouraging my garden to bloom. It was backbreaking work, literally cutting through thick stems and hoeing through hard ground. But at the end, I sat on the tile steps in my courtyard, sipping ouzo and surveying all I had done. I started with a not-so-small place and made it... better.

Gardening is a metaphor for life and relationships. Are you a garden or a gardener? It is also a hands-on connection to the earth. Not a millenialbabble connection but a real connection. A dirt under your fingernails, your own fresh herbs in-your-pasta connection. I am not young, and my muscles revolt at this kind of labor, but my soul revels in it. For, in Scarlett O'Hara-fashion, this is my land. My home. The place I share with the people I love.

Brendan and Diana will join me here for a long weekend later this month. It will be their first summer visit in five years, and I have been planning our weekend for several weeks now. It will include Joel, and, with Joel, a night at a Cuban restaurant. The following weekend, Lynnette will be here. We had a 90-minute conversation this morning, even though she is in Prague, and I am in Encino. She has been in Europe forever, and I miss her, and look forward to her visit. There will be double-twelve dominoes in June.

Joel's birthday is in early July, and he will commence a week's vacation. We'll be spending Fourth of July with Connie and Curt. But, besides that evening, we will mostly hang out here, relaxing by the pool together. And, of course, there will be dancing in July. 

Karen and Greg (Greg = we were outlaws together) will be here for a weekend in mid-month and we will celebrate Bastille Day together. So, certainly, there will be brie and good bread in July.

After nine very hard years, the coming summer lands on a lighter heart, finally. This was kicked off in a stellar fashion by the Hollywood Bowl concerts in May. And, by the way, the Sheryl Crow/James Taylor concert was enjoyable. But I woke up the next morning, and went immediately to my Paul Simon playlist. That Paul Simon concert was, for me, simply the toughest act to follow. I continue to listen, and learn from his music which was in the background of my life for so many decades. What a gift to come to the party, even if so late in the game...

Summer and all it brings is on its way. If you live in Southern California, take in the light, and the cool June mornings. But, wherever you live, relish in being barefoot and candlelit with good friends (and good wine). After all, this will be the first summer of the rest of your life...

Thanks for reading, etc....

C'est Bastille Day!

Los Angeles, California


Our house guests arrived on Friday the 13th, just a day or so after my voice vacated. To say that Billy and I had been burning the candle at both ends would be lying. We were burning it in the middle, as well. At first, I figured I was suffering from allergies. I don't generally get waylaid by anything other than the blues. But, neither allergies nor the blues are contagious. And Billy came down with whatever the raging plague was shortly after I got it.


Our house guests, Brendan and Diana, were good-natured about this. They have come for a long weekend visit for the past seven or so summers. We generally hang about the pool all day, finally showering in the early evening, then reconvening for cocktails, and finally dinner. We're talking late dinner; usually nine o'clock or even past that (which is fine with us as neither Billy nor I believe you should eat dinner while it is still light out, unless it is a holiday, and sometimes not even then). The last night they take us out to dinner. And, that's been the tradition, which was, in many years, tied to the Fourth of July holiday.


This year was a little different. First, B & D were not available for the Fourth. Then, we discovered that Garrison Keillor was bringing A Prairie Home Companion to The Hollywood Bowl on Friday the 13th of July. So, we got tickets for a box, and invited them for the weekend of the 13th. They accepted, with the caveat that they wanted to take us out to dinner two of the four nights they would be here. We agreed (what's not to like about that?), and all went according to plan, except for that pesky, raging plague thing.


You know how you always manage to make it through finals or your wedding, and then you get sick? Well, we've had that kind of a year -- making it through a lot. I guess we finally succumbed to defensive indifference (great baseball term, which I learned last year, and will use for a post title someday) and you know what followed.


We more or less limped through the weekend. B & D are perfect friends and house guests. They never complained, and even cheerfully sat in our box at the Bowl, and at dinner and card tables with us without flinching at all the coughing we were doing. They were much nicer than we would have been about this, by the way. Billy is relentless about not being around people who are sick. I'm a little less so, trusting my body's ability to fight things off with the aid of Purell (a pro-active regime which obviously failed me this time). But B & D were troupers.


Diana and I have spent some portion of most of the summers that have come and gone since we met each other, in 1995, on a Caribbean cruise. We were both traveling with our moms, and, as mentioned in an earlier post (available here for free!), we went on to cruise together with the moms another three times. Her mom, Emma, who was lovely and fun, passed away three years ago. At about that same time, my mom began to dwindle. Lots of changes in both our lives, but we have remained a constant in each other's, which is both heartwarming and comforting.


So, you might ask, what does all of this have to do with Bastille Day? Well, that requires a bit of backstory. Another couple, who are friends of ours, once told us about this week they spent in the Loire Valley in France. They had rented a home there with some very nice British friends. Their time there together sounded like something out of M.F.K. Fisher. Each day they would tour around the area, tasting and buying wines and, if memory serves, visiting markets in the small towns. For dinner, they often put out a variety of french cheeses, pates, and some french bread. They would enjoy the bread, the cheese, the wines. Meanwhile, they would roast a chicken, and that would be their dinner, followed by a green salad. I LOVE stories like that, and have, for a long time, lusted after replicating that menu. And so, this is what I did on Bastille Day. I put out two cheeses: a brie and a fontina with rosemary. I threw a loaf of french bread into my convection oven where the chicken was roasting, and tossed a salad of plain arugula dressed with lemon oil, sea salt, and pepper. Then, I prepped the roasted cauliflower (recipe in my post dated March 5, 2012 entitled: What's Cooking, available here, oh you know) and slid that into the oven.


We had candles (ok, they were those cool battery candles, which I've been buying by the boatload) all over the table, and we ate our bread, the lovely cheeses, and the slightly-underdressed salad (ran out of lemon oil, oops!), with the warm crusty bread. I was IN HEAVEN! Seriously, we avoid cheese and especially those triple-creme varieties, for the same reason that you probably all do. And then. And then you realize that your soul really needs some good cheese every now and then. After the cheese (and the other stuff, but this is obviously all about the cheese) we had the chicken and the cauliflower before we moved to the dining room inside to play our favorite card game which is called (I'm so sorry!) Shithead. We had gelato and my homemade chocolate chunk-coconut-pecan cookies for dessert. Yes, a summer fruit tart would have been better, with less dairy after all that cheese. But still.


After our guests left, Billy and I collapsed for about five days. We held it together, mas o menos, while they were here, but it all caught up with us and we were both sick and tired. In fact, as of today, we're still incredibly exhausted. But I suspect that's more because of the past year than because of whatever this bug happens to be (a widespread bug, as I know a lot of people who have either have this, or did have it).


Once we're feeling better, we intend to spend the rest of our summer weekends relaxing by the pool. It's been a long, hard year, and we both deserve some time out, enjoying our home and each other's company. But, as I'm never without some plan or another, here are some notes on my plan for those weekends:


1) After sundown, no shoes and no electric lights.


2) After eating salads for dinner during the week, Saturday or Sunday nights will entail a revisit to the cheese & chicken repast described above (we started this last night, with the leftover fontina and a truffle cheese). This predicated on our continued low lipid count.


3) Lots of music (I finally loaded my replacement iPod and we've been listening to a lot of Hawaiian slack-key and Brazilian Bossa Nova from the 60s. I sneak in a little salsa whenever I feel I can get away with it.


So there you have it. Bastille Day with all the summer bliss that follows: eat good food; play fun games with friends; enjoy candlelit nights; run barefoot through your house, and all to your favorite music. This is probably the best advice you will get from me, like, maybe ever! Or at least for the duration of the summer. Happy Bastille Day, bon appeitit, et merci bien for reading my blog.