Los Angeles, California
My mom's retina continued to fray after the surgery. There had simply been too much damage done by the shingles virus which had run rampant in her eye for six weeks before she started treatment for it. The rehab facility had never diagnosed it. They were too busy bringing in all kinds of specialists who could get a slice of her Medicare pie. You learn a lot through a process like this, including cynicism about it…
Ultimately, we opted not to put her through another surgery. It would only improve her vision from being able to see a hand waving in front of her face to being able to count fingers in front of her face. She would not be able to read. The two facilitators at the board and care, whom I trusted a lot, and the doctor supported this decision, as did Billy. My sister was not consulted, as she has not been in the loop on Mom's medical care since she opted out in 2009.
Along with the change in my mom's condition, upheaval is afoot all around me. Autumn is now here, and I am predictably mourning the loss of summer. This is something I always do, but even more so now that I don't really look forward to the holidays, and especially this year with Todd and Christopher taking a South American cruise instead of renting the house in Carmel as they have done for the past two years. Still, we will return to Carmel just before Christmas for our last stay at Casita de la Mar. Another chapter closing...
There have been so many closings and endings of late, or at the very least, upheavals: the demise of my family; Sandra's illness; the disappearance of my sister at a time when her support was needed in the care of my mom; the destruction of the Kona Village Resort, and the soon-to-be loss of our rental in Carmel. In so many ways I feel adrift, looking about for anything to hold onto, to keep me afloat, while I scan the horizon for land. And maybe that's a way-too-cheesy metaphor, but still, it feels that way to me.
Perhaps what is hopeful is my ability to scan the horizon. I am fortunate that I have sight, and even, on the odd occasion, insight. So while I have seen much of what sustained me in my life sink to the sandy bottom, I am still looking for what can buoy me up in my future. I have always been someone who held fast to traditions, but as those traditions have evanesced, and in some cases, disapparated, what will replace them? I know I am fortunate. I have Billy. I have LOL, and other friends, I have salsa dance, and the circle I know within the salsa community. And finding salsa was truly finding my bliss. Still, these days, as I look about for meaning in my life, I admit that sometimes my eyes fail me. That is when I remind myself of that old adage that there are none so blind as those who will not see. It's just that when you are trying to see from under water, everything can look a bit, well, blurry. Still, I know that my sight will adjust. Alas, my mom is not so lucky. . .Thank you for reading my blog while I am treading water.
Showing posts with label Carmel-by-the-Sea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carmel-by-the-Sea. Show all posts
October 5, 2013
September 18, 2013
Autumn Again
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
We've been receiving a steady stream of bad news…some of it really bad. So when the news came that we had lost our rental in Carmel for the month of January, we tried to put it in perspective. Nowhere in that news was anyone hurt, ill, or in any desperate straits. But, we were losing the rental house, Casita del Mar, which we have loved for this and the past three stays before this. So we have come to Carmel once again in September, having worked out a split schedule on the rental here which will have us here for three weeks now, and ten days at Christmas & New Years.
The weather has been glorious--much warmer and sunnier than last September. But storm clouds have been gathering on the family front. Before I left I learned that my mom needed to have surgery for a detached retina in the eye that had been damaged by the shingles virus. I debated long and hard whether to stay home for this, but the doctor, the facilitator at her board and care who I trust completely, and Billy told me that it wouldn't make any difference to my mom whether I was there or not. She wouldn't be that aware of the what and the why nor that I was ostensibly missing-in-action for this battle. So it would be more for me to be there, than for her. Still, I had reluctance when I left, but it all worked out fine.
The doctor's office worked with me, faxing consent forms here which I signed as her power of attorney, and faxed back. The hospital set in place a 'phone consent' protocol for the morning of the surgery. After the surgery, the nurse in recovery called to update me on the surgery, and Mom's condition, which was good. The board and care facilitator kept me up to date on her recovery once she was home. It was an outpatient procedure, and all went well.
I was in Carmel alone while this was happening. Billy and I had come here together, but he had already returned home. Lydia was coming for a few days after. Debra was unable to make the trip this time. After the surgery situation settled down, I got into my alone routine here in Carmel. It used to make me a little nervous to be here alone--especially in the other house we used to rent, but not any longer. I think I really needed this time to be on my own. As time passes, especially with this situation in my family, I have a harder and harder time dealing with the clutter in my head. I long for a simpler routine, simpler days...a simpler life. I think I have written before that being here affords me that, as I need little, and bring less. At home, I am overwhelmed by all the stuff, all the responsibilities, all the space junk in my brain. Luckily, while this was happening with my mom I was able to be clear and focused. Not always the case…
A lot of things in my life feel like they are spinning out. It has been a hard couple of years and a sense of balance between the good and the bad is suffering. But when I come to Carmel, attend Mass at the Mission, and walk through town and along the beach, I feel centered in a way that doesn't happen to me at home. So, with Betty's sight restored, and the weather here warm enough to sit outside until dark, and a few weeks still ahead of me, I am feeling good and welcoming autumn, which will soon arrive. Then. we will be back in December for our last stay here in this splendid house in Carmel-by-the-Sea. After that, who knows? Thank you for hanging with me during this long hiatus and for continuing to read my blog...
We've been receiving a steady stream of bad news…some of it really bad. So when the news came that we had lost our rental in Carmel for the month of January, we tried to put it in perspective. Nowhere in that news was anyone hurt, ill, or in any desperate straits. But, we were losing the rental house, Casita del Mar, which we have loved for this and the past three stays before this. So we have come to Carmel once again in September, having worked out a split schedule on the rental here which will have us here for three weeks now, and ten days at Christmas & New Years.
The weather has been glorious--much warmer and sunnier than last September. But storm clouds have been gathering on the family front. Before I left I learned that my mom needed to have surgery for a detached retina in the eye that had been damaged by the shingles virus. I debated long and hard whether to stay home for this, but the doctor, the facilitator at her board and care who I trust completely, and Billy told me that it wouldn't make any difference to my mom whether I was there or not. She wouldn't be that aware of the what and the why nor that I was ostensibly missing-in-action for this battle. So it would be more for me to be there, than for her. Still, I had reluctance when I left, but it all worked out fine.
The doctor's office worked with me, faxing consent forms here which I signed as her power of attorney, and faxed back. The hospital set in place a 'phone consent' protocol for the morning of the surgery. After the surgery, the nurse in recovery called to update me on the surgery, and Mom's condition, which was good. The board and care facilitator kept me up to date on her recovery once she was home. It was an outpatient procedure, and all went well.
I was in Carmel alone while this was happening. Billy and I had come here together, but he had already returned home. Lydia was coming for a few days after. Debra was unable to make the trip this time. After the surgery situation settled down, I got into my alone routine here in Carmel. It used to make me a little nervous to be here alone--especially in the other house we used to rent, but not any longer. I think I really needed this time to be on my own. As time passes, especially with this situation in my family, I have a harder and harder time dealing with the clutter in my head. I long for a simpler routine, simpler days...a simpler life. I think I have written before that being here affords me that, as I need little, and bring less. At home, I am overwhelmed by all the stuff, all the responsibilities, all the space junk in my brain. Luckily, while this was happening with my mom I was able to be clear and focused. Not always the case…
A lot of things in my life feel like they are spinning out. It has been a hard couple of years and a sense of balance between the good and the bad is suffering. But when I come to Carmel, attend Mass at the Mission, and walk through town and along the beach, I feel centered in a way that doesn't happen to me at home. So, with Betty's sight restored, and the weather here warm enough to sit outside until dark, and a few weeks still ahead of me, I am feeling good and welcoming autumn, which will soon arrive. Then. we will be back in December for our last stay here in this splendid house in Carmel-by-the-Sea. After that, who knows? Thank you for hanging with me during this long hiatus and for continuing to read my blog...
December 20, 2012
The End of the World As We Know It
Los Angeles, California
Yes, it's that time again. Winter solstice us upon us, and all the druids and new- agers (who I wish would just go take a place together in the country) are hopped up in the way that druids and new-agers get. And, on top of that, the Mayans are weighing in with a prognostication of...wait for it...the end of the world. That old chestnut.
Temperatures were in the thirties here in sunny So Cal. Last night, I was dancing at Bogie's in Westlake Village and this was the talk of the dance floor. People coming in saying...it's thirty-eight degrees outside. I should have been thinking about all the bougainvilleas we have here at Casa Healy which whither in a frost, but no...I was dancing for the last time of the year. Or maybe even...ever?
We're leaving for Carmel Saturday night, so I find the timing of this Mayan thing a bit problematic. Not that I would wish for the end of the world at any other more convenient time, it's just that the rental is fully paid for and I would hate to not be able to get my money's worth.
And if the world doesn't end, we still have to contend with a rain forecast in Carmel -- hell (pardon the expression) a rain forecast all across the state. I track weather on my iPhone in a variety of places; the region in Los Angeles where we live, Santa Monica, Carmel, Fair Oaks (Sandra's town), Thousand Oaks (where I dance), and New York City (where my friend Max is, mas o menos). Looks like rain and snow just about everywhere. Not only am I not dreaming of a white Christmas, but I'm also not dreaming of a wet Christmas. But, alas, I will take what I can get in Carmel.
As I've written before, we've had some crazy weather while we've been staying in Carmel, but last year... last year, le sigh... the weather was perfecto. It must have rained a bit, but over the holidays it was gorgeous and pretty warm. I was hoping for a repeat of that, but that was before the Mayans got into the act. So I guess I should just be appreciative that the world won't end and we will get to Carmel and whatever weather shall occur. Besides, there's a lot to be said for lounging around by the fire in pajamas. I haven't done much of that lately (like, at all).
So as the boxes and luggage continue to fill, I hang up my dancing shoes for the year! Hard to believe, but there you have it. Still, I'm looking at this as a half-full, not half-empty, glass. After all, if the Mayans had their way, I'd be hanging them up, like, forever. Thank you for reading my blog. Beware of flaming asteroids...
Yes, it's that time again. Winter solstice us upon us, and all the druids and new- agers (who I wish would just go take a place together in the country) are hopped up in the way that druids and new-agers get. And, on top of that, the Mayans are weighing in with a prognostication of...wait for it...the end of the world. That old chestnut.
Temperatures were in the thirties here in sunny So Cal. Last night, I was dancing at Bogie's in Westlake Village and this was the talk of the dance floor. People coming in saying...it's thirty-eight degrees outside. I should have been thinking about all the bougainvilleas we have here at Casa Healy which whither in a frost, but no...I was dancing for the last time of the year. Or maybe even...ever?
We're leaving for Carmel Saturday night, so I find the timing of this Mayan thing a bit problematic. Not that I would wish for the end of the world at any other more convenient time, it's just that the rental is fully paid for and I would hate to not be able to get my money's worth.
And if the world doesn't end, we still have to contend with a rain forecast in Carmel -- hell (pardon the expression) a rain forecast all across the state. I track weather on my iPhone in a variety of places; the region in Los Angeles where we live, Santa Monica, Carmel, Fair Oaks (Sandra's town), Thousand Oaks (where I dance), and New York City (where my friend Max is, mas o menos). Looks like rain and snow just about everywhere. Not only am I not dreaming of a white Christmas, but I'm also not dreaming of a wet Christmas. But, alas, I will take what I can get in Carmel.
As I've written before, we've had some crazy weather while we've been staying in Carmel, but last year... last year, le sigh... the weather was perfecto. It must have rained a bit, but over the holidays it was gorgeous and pretty warm. I was hoping for a repeat of that, but that was before the Mayans got into the act. So I guess I should just be appreciative that the world won't end and we will get to Carmel and whatever weather shall occur. Besides, there's a lot to be said for lounging around by the fire in pajamas. I haven't done much of that lately (like, at all).
So as the boxes and luggage continue to fill, I hang up my dancing shoes for the year! Hard to believe, but there you have it. Still, I'm looking at this as a half-full, not half-empty, glass. After all, if the Mayans had their way, I'd be hanging them up, like, forever. Thank you for reading my blog. Beware of flaming asteroids...
December 12, 2012
Emotional Velcro
Los Angeles, California
The holidays are upon us, and, as can happen at any time of year, the planets in my universe are not aligned. Holidays can bring their own out-of-whackness, but other things are random and can happen whenever. We can rail about the unfairness of that, if we like. Or accept it as one of the vagaries of life. I write that, but I still struggle with it.
Recently I wrote to my friend, Max, that I was feeling like emotional velcro. He wrote back that he thought I had coined a great name for a rock band. In the course of tussling a bit about claiming this terminology, I knew I would use it as a blog post. I'm surprised I didn't come up with it earlier as it describes an aspect of my nature to a T. Tell me that you've got a migraine and I will instantly feel a throb in my temple. My mom is currently dealing with skin lesions, and I am now itching all over. When Billy's back goes out, I find myself hobbling with low back pain even though I never have any back problems as a rule.
We all take our place in our family's structure, and Billy has often said that I am the sin-eater for my family. But my family barely exists anymore. There is only my mom and she has been dwindling for several years with blessedly slow-progressing dementia. So now, with my frister Lydia suffering from an interminable bout of vertigo, I find myself dizzy and disoriented. Or maybe that is the state I would find myself in anyway, given recent news.
Sandra, my frister especial and blog namesake, meets the challenge of a second go-round of difficult treatment starting late this week. She got through the first round two years ago, and was still recuperating from that and putting weight back on when this news hit. She is the strongest and best woman I know. She is in so many ways who I strive to be and that is the reason I named my blog What Would Sandra Do? She is the reason I attend Mass in Carmel which has put me on a spiritual quest that I have yet to completely conceptualize but that has brought a great deal of meaning to my life. And, she is the most wickedly fun person I know. She brings out the best in everyone, and I feel profoundly fortunate to have her in my life. We have a history that includes masks and funny hats, face-painting, Halloween jewelry that lights up, toys -- including wind up cars that we raced around the groove in the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village Resort. There was no stopping us at the Village and everyone gave up trying (we just dragged them down with us). We have spent ten of my birthdays together at the Kona Village Resort, and have traveled and spent time together together in Tahiti, Panama, Las Vegas, Napa, San Diego, Lake Tahoe, and Carmel.
Strong girl that she is, with all the family and friend support that she has, I still think she could use some extra wind beneath her wings right now, and I ask you to think of her and send prayers, good thoughts, meditations, whatever you've got - in her direction. I believe our lives are about good work, the choices we make, and the friends and family in our circle. But at times life is also about the fight. Sandra's up for this. And so am I. So, please throw what you can her way. I believe in the power of prayer and positive thoughts, and especially in the strength in numbers. This, as much as I believe in her.
The holidays can be tough for many. They stir up all kinds of feelings and memories. My friend, Lydia, and I had a tender heart-to-heart recently when she expressed how she now felt during the holidays, after losing both her parents. It reminded me of my mom saying that every time she started to bake bread (the special Christmas bread that my grandmother, mother, and I have baked -- a photo of which you can see in the post entitled A Loaf of Bread, A Glass of Scotch, and Thou which is available here throughout this holiday season...and beyond) she would sit down and have a good cry because she missed my grandmother. Holidays can do that to you. And even with all the good in my life, and with our impending trip to Carmel, the longing, and the missing, are just barely below the surface.
So let us enjoy the season. Let us think of those we love, and cherish them or their memories. Let us make merry this Christmas and/or light the Hanukkah candles with a full heart. And let our emotional velcro collect all the joy, all the good, and all of happiness that this season holds. Thank you for reading my blog. Love you, my Frister Especial.
The holidays are upon us, and, as can happen at any time of year, the planets in my universe are not aligned. Holidays can bring their own out-of-whackness, but other things are random and can happen whenever. We can rail about the unfairness of that, if we like. Or accept it as one of the vagaries of life. I write that, but I still struggle with it.
Recently I wrote to my friend, Max, that I was feeling like emotional velcro. He wrote back that he thought I had coined a great name for a rock band. In the course of tussling a bit about claiming this terminology, I knew I would use it as a blog post. I'm surprised I didn't come up with it earlier as it describes an aspect of my nature to a T. Tell me that you've got a migraine and I will instantly feel a throb in my temple. My mom is currently dealing with skin lesions, and I am now itching all over. When Billy's back goes out, I find myself hobbling with low back pain even though I never have any back problems as a rule.
We all take our place in our family's structure, and Billy has often said that I am the sin-eater for my family. But my family barely exists anymore. There is only my mom and she has been dwindling for several years with blessedly slow-progressing dementia. So now, with my frister Lydia suffering from an interminable bout of vertigo, I find myself dizzy and disoriented. Or maybe that is the state I would find myself in anyway, given recent news.
Sandra, my frister especial and blog namesake, meets the challenge of a second go-round of difficult treatment starting late this week. She got through the first round two years ago, and was still recuperating from that and putting weight back on when this news hit. She is the strongest and best woman I know. She is in so many ways who I strive to be and that is the reason I named my blog What Would Sandra Do? She is the reason I attend Mass in Carmel which has put me on a spiritual quest that I have yet to completely conceptualize but that has brought a great deal of meaning to my life. And, she is the most wickedly fun person I know. She brings out the best in everyone, and I feel profoundly fortunate to have her in my life. We have a history that includes masks and funny hats, face-painting, Halloween jewelry that lights up, toys -- including wind up cars that we raced around the groove in the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village Resort. There was no stopping us at the Village and everyone gave up trying (we just dragged them down with us). We have spent ten of my birthdays together at the Kona Village Resort, and have traveled and spent time together together in Tahiti, Panama, Las Vegas, Napa, San Diego, Lake Tahoe, and Carmel.
Strong girl that she is, with all the family and friend support that she has, I still think she could use some extra wind beneath her wings right now, and I ask you to think of her and send prayers, good thoughts, meditations, whatever you've got - in her direction. I believe our lives are about good work, the choices we make, and the friends and family in our circle. But at times life is also about the fight. Sandra's up for this. And so am I. So, please throw what you can her way. I believe in the power of prayer and positive thoughts, and especially in the strength in numbers. This, as much as I believe in her.
The holidays can be tough for many. They stir up all kinds of feelings and memories. My friend, Lydia, and I had a tender heart-to-heart recently when she expressed how she now felt during the holidays, after losing both her parents. It reminded me of my mom saying that every time she started to bake bread (the special Christmas bread that my grandmother, mother, and I have baked -- a photo of which you can see in the post entitled A Loaf of Bread, A Glass of Scotch, and Thou which is available here throughout this holiday season...and beyond) she would sit down and have a good cry because she missed my grandmother. Holidays can do that to you. And even with all the good in my life, and with our impending trip to Carmel, the longing, and the missing, are just barely below the surface.
So let us enjoy the season. Let us think of those we love, and cherish them or their memories. Let us make merry this Christmas and/or light the Hanukkah candles with a full heart. And let our emotional velcro collect all the joy, all the good, and all of happiness that this season holds. Thank you for reading my blog. Love you, my Frister Especial.
September 7, 2012
Three Thousand Hits
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
Here we are, back in Carmel. While September is not a usual time for us to go to Carmel, at least not in a decade or so, the past few years have been so different and complicated in so many ways, that we find ourselves not traveling afar as we have in the past. So this year, we are once again spending extended time in one of our favorite places. And that's ok. While we listen with some envy to stories about our friends' travels; while I eye the Silversea and Radisson cruise line brochures that come to our home with a small sense of yearning; while I long, long to feel the way I do while we have spent time at The Kona Village; it's just not our time to do that. It's our time to stay fairly close to our Los Angeles home, close to my mom, close to our business. And so here we are.
It does feel like home to me, even though we're not in the same house we rented for so many years. It's our second stay here at this house, and it is a really nice one. I've gotten used to being on the opposite side of town from where we have always rented; I've gotten used to the odd fact that this house doesn't seem to have a name (no street addresses or mail delivery in town so all houses are named, or so I thought); I've gotten used to the push-button fireplace which altered my opinion that those things are cheezy. It looks very much like a real fire-in-the-fireplace. And if we need what Billy calls a true Carmel smell, there is a wood-burning fireplace in the living room.
This house has an outside patio with a table surrounded by flowers and trees. It has a barbecue. But the weather has been foggy and cool since we got here on Sept 1st. I remarked that Carmel doesn't know it's September yet, as the foggy days of summer seem to have lingered on. But the house is warm and cozy, and the town is Carmel. And so we begin our process of winding down and getting recharged up for the rest of the year.
Lest I lose you all (all one or two of you reading this), I should try to refrain from listing the reasons why the past couple of years have been hard. Last year, at this time, we were rehabbing our rental property after it was trashed by a tenant. Billy was doing all the grunt work and heavy lifting, as he has done two other times in the past three years during which time we have twice moved my mom. Then there was that pesky economic thing which reigned terror on all small business owners, which is what we are. But life is more stable now. It's just that we're both a little older and a little more spent.
I commented to many people, and probably wrote it in a previous post (available here in limited quantities), that I got through this past year with the help of salsa dance, an unseasonable taste for Guinness beer, and baseball. That's Dodgers baseball. The Dodgers helped me along by coming out strong at the beginning of the season, after the heinous McCourts sold them to a consortium which included Magic Johnson. Our boys in blue played with verve and joy through April and May. Then there were injuries. They dropped a lead which I will recall (without checking) was about nine games. They were barely at the top of their division going into the All-Star break. After much back and forth, they had regained that slim lead, and then. And then. The Giants smoked us through a three-game series last month. Now we are 4.5 games back of the Giants, and Billy and I are heading to San Francisco today to watch tomorrow's game at AT&T Park. Looking forward to it. Nervous. Excited. Go Dodgers (like win, before I have a heart attack)!
Meanwhile, my blog is nearing another pinnacle, and once again, it is occurring while I am in Carmel, where it began. I will pass 3000 hits this weekend, which should make me feel a little bit like a blogger all star. I just looked at the Dodgers' stats and, they have a combined 1167 hits this season as of Sept 4th. And I want to guess that I've seen about 1100 of them, either on television or at Dodger Stadium. Looking forward to a few more over the weekend, before we return to Carmel and I settle in to write a boatload (a McCovey Cove reference, get it?) of blog posts. In the meantime, in-between time, ain't we had fun? Ok, maybe fun is too strong a word. But I do thank you for joining me on my writing journey by reading my blog -- especially if you've looked at it more than once. I implore you to leave a message on any post that speaks to you. And I hope you will enjoy the next three thousand. I haven't said it all yet. You must trust me about this.
I do need to repeat the comment that I'm not sure if there are three thousand of you who have each read my blog once, or one of you who has hit on it three thousand times (you know who you are, LOL. For the rest of you: see post entitled The Monogram available here at newly reduced prices). Regardless, I thank you, one or all. And for the love of heaven, GO DODGERS!!!
Here we are, back in Carmel. While September is not a usual time for us to go to Carmel, at least not in a decade or so, the past few years have been so different and complicated in so many ways, that we find ourselves not traveling afar as we have in the past. So this year, we are once again spending extended time in one of our favorite places. And that's ok. While we listen with some envy to stories about our friends' travels; while I eye the Silversea and Radisson cruise line brochures that come to our home with a small sense of yearning; while I long, long to feel the way I do while we have spent time at The Kona Village; it's just not our time to do that. It's our time to stay fairly close to our Los Angeles home, close to my mom, close to our business. And so here we are.
It does feel like home to me, even though we're not in the same house we rented for so many years. It's our second stay here at this house, and it is a really nice one. I've gotten used to being on the opposite side of town from where we have always rented; I've gotten used to the odd fact that this house doesn't seem to have a name (no street addresses or mail delivery in town so all houses are named, or so I thought); I've gotten used to the push-button fireplace which altered my opinion that those things are cheezy. It looks very much like a real fire-in-the-fireplace. And if we need what Billy calls a true Carmel smell, there is a wood-burning fireplace in the living room.
This house has an outside patio with a table surrounded by flowers and trees. It has a barbecue. But the weather has been foggy and cool since we got here on Sept 1st. I remarked that Carmel doesn't know it's September yet, as the foggy days of summer seem to have lingered on. But the house is warm and cozy, and the town is Carmel. And so we begin our process of winding down and getting recharged up for the rest of the year.
Lest I lose you all (all one or two of you reading this), I should try to refrain from listing the reasons why the past couple of years have been hard. Last year, at this time, we were rehabbing our rental property after it was trashed by a tenant. Billy was doing all the grunt work and heavy lifting, as he has done two other times in the past three years during which time we have twice moved my mom. Then there was that pesky economic thing which reigned terror on all small business owners, which is what we are. But life is more stable now. It's just that we're both a little older and a little more spent.
I commented to many people, and probably wrote it in a previous post (available here in limited quantities), that I got through this past year with the help of salsa dance, an unseasonable taste for Guinness beer, and baseball. That's Dodgers baseball. The Dodgers helped me along by coming out strong at the beginning of the season, after the heinous McCourts sold them to a consortium which included Magic Johnson. Our boys in blue played with verve and joy through April and May. Then there were injuries. They dropped a lead which I will recall (without checking) was about nine games. They were barely at the top of their division going into the All-Star break. After much back and forth, they had regained that slim lead, and then. And then. The Giants smoked us through a three-game series last month. Now we are 4.5 games back of the Giants, and Billy and I are heading to San Francisco today to watch tomorrow's game at AT&T Park. Looking forward to it. Nervous. Excited. Go Dodgers (like win, before I have a heart attack)!
Meanwhile, my blog is nearing another pinnacle, and once again, it is occurring while I am in Carmel, where it began. I will pass 3000 hits this weekend, which should make me feel a little bit like a blogger all star. I just looked at the Dodgers' stats and, they have a combined 1167 hits this season as of Sept 4th. And I want to guess that I've seen about 1100 of them, either on television or at Dodger Stadium. Looking forward to a few more over the weekend, before we return to Carmel and I settle in to write a boatload (a McCovey Cove reference, get it?) of blog posts. In the meantime, in-between time, ain't we had fun? Ok, maybe fun is too strong a word. But I do thank you for joining me on my writing journey by reading my blog -- especially if you've looked at it more than once. I implore you to leave a message on any post that speaks to you. And I hope you will enjoy the next three thousand. I haven't said it all yet. You must trust me about this.
I do need to repeat the comment that I'm not sure if there are three thousand of you who have each read my blog once, or one of you who has hit on it three thousand times (you know who you are, LOL. For the rest of you: see post entitled The Monogram available here at newly reduced prices). Regardless, I thank you, one or all. And for the love of heaven, GO DODGERS!!!
February 5, 2012
Cottage-by-the-Sea
Los Angeles, California
While it is stating the obvious, I feel compelled to write that life is made up of too many endings. I know, I know. Endings are the other bookend to beginnings. And without that other bookend . . . the books topple over. I get it. I just don't like it.
And so, with that in mind, Billy and I left Carmel a week ago, and returned, at a slow pace, to Los Angeles. The slow pace as a result of the speeding ticket Billy got while driving back to LA just after New Year's. He was going 84 in a 65 mph zone (I've been telling him, and telling him, and then Officer Vasquez told him). This event has significantly cooled his jets.
So, home. Los Angeles. The first day wasn't so bad. Lydia accompanied me on a visit with my mom, on the way to Century City to pick up some earrings that I had left for repair several months ago. These days, life is like that. It was a beautiful, warm end-of-January day. We walked around in the hub-bub of the busy mall -- much different than the slow, quiet one, Del Monte Center, in Monterey. We shared a sandwich at Breadbar, and being the friend she is, she let me eat all the french fries. I mean ALL.
Billy and I stayed in that night and made a pasta with olivada sauce. I haven't yet really returned to cooking (is anyone out there thinking, where are the recipes?), and have yet to set foot on a dance floor. Returning to Los Angeles is a process. It requires some adjustment, a touch of grieving, and finally, resignation. Meanwhile, I think about these people who have made the jump. They fell in a love with a place and just went there. And usually it worked out. Billy and I made the decision to do that in 1998. We were going to sell the business and the house and just go. We announced this to friends and family. But then, my dad passed away suddenly. My mom was on her own, and she needed us. So we put our plans on the back burner. Fourteen years on the back burner.
For the last seven years, our annual travel plan has been anchored by a week at Kona Village Resort, and a month in Carmel. We've also been to Napa. And to Glenbrook, on Lake Tahoe, almost every summer. And we snuck in trips to Tahiti and Panama. But the economy's free fall has kept us closer to home and the business. And, that tsunami put the kibosh, so to speak, on the Kona Village trips. So now, we keep increasing the time we spend in Carmel; this recent stay from a month to six weeks. And we are contemplating spending the month of September there as well. Maybe we're just not the kind of people, or at the time in our lives, when we can just jump. Maybe we have to ease or ooze into it. Trickle. I don't care how we get there, just that someday we do. Because while being back in Los Angeles is where we find many of our friends; while it offers up a lot of activities and events that are not available to us in Carmel; the truth is that my heart will always be in a cottage by the sea. Any cottage, as long as it's in Carmel. And that's just the kind of hairpin I am. Thanks for reading my blog (aka the rants of a crazy, homesick woman).
While it is stating the obvious, I feel compelled to write that life is made up of too many endings. I know, I know. Endings are the other bookend to beginnings. And without that other bookend . . . the books topple over. I get it. I just don't like it.
And so, with that in mind, Billy and I left Carmel a week ago, and returned, at a slow pace, to Los Angeles. The slow pace as a result of the speeding ticket Billy got while driving back to LA just after New Year's. He was going 84 in a 65 mph zone (I've been telling him, and telling him, and then Officer Vasquez told him). This event has significantly cooled his jets.
So, home. Los Angeles. The first day wasn't so bad. Lydia accompanied me on a visit with my mom, on the way to Century City to pick up some earrings that I had left for repair several months ago. These days, life is like that. It was a beautiful, warm end-of-January day. We walked around in the hub-bub of the busy mall -- much different than the slow, quiet one, Del Monte Center, in Monterey. We shared a sandwich at Breadbar, and being the friend she is, she let me eat all the french fries. I mean ALL.
Billy and I stayed in that night and made a pasta with olivada sauce. I haven't yet really returned to cooking (is anyone out there thinking, where are the recipes?), and have yet to set foot on a dance floor. Returning to Los Angeles is a process. It requires some adjustment, a touch of grieving, and finally, resignation. Meanwhile, I think about these people who have made the jump. They fell in a love with a place and just went there. And usually it worked out. Billy and I made the decision to do that in 1998. We were going to sell the business and the house and just go. We announced this to friends and family. But then, my dad passed away suddenly. My mom was on her own, and she needed us. So we put our plans on the back burner. Fourteen years on the back burner.
For the last seven years, our annual travel plan has been anchored by a week at Kona Village Resort, and a month in Carmel. We've also been to Napa. And to Glenbrook, on Lake Tahoe, almost every summer. And we snuck in trips to Tahiti and Panama. But the economy's free fall has kept us closer to home and the business. And, that tsunami put the kibosh, so to speak, on the Kona Village trips. So now, we keep increasing the time we spend in Carmel; this recent stay from a month to six weeks. And we are contemplating spending the month of September there as well. Maybe we're just not the kind of people, or at the time in our lives, when we can just jump. Maybe we have to ease or ooze into it. Trickle. I don't care how we get there, just that someday we do. Because while being back in Los Angeles is where we find many of our friends; while it offers up a lot of activities and events that are not available to us in Carmel; the truth is that my heart will always be in a cottage by the sea. Any cottage, as long as it's in Carmel. And that's just the kind of hairpin I am. Thanks for reading my blog (aka the rants of a crazy, homesick woman).
January 25, 2012
Shopping, Shopping, and Shopping
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
No small part of our job, as fristers, is to support and encourage. During our recent Las Chicas weekend, Debra, Lydia and I shared problems and fears; our individual, unique takes on life and philosophy -- even religion raised its head during a weekend filled with conversation, discussion, and, well, silliness. This is what we do when we are together. We turn over stones, we question life's meaning, we laugh a lot, and . . . we shop.
Now, remember my blog's mission statement (if you will) which is stated on the home page? Before beginning my blog, I had this epiphany (if you will) that one should focus on three things in life -- three things which bring you joy; about which you feel passion; which are the top three interests in your life. To reiterate, my three things are cooking, dancing, and writing. Well, this topic came up again, when, during the weekend, we started talking about our eventual retirements (as if). Both Lydia and Deb work for school districts, so when the time comes, they will be guaranteed a pension. No small thing.
Financial support aside, the question of how people will fill their time once they are retired remains. I worry a bit about this with Billy. He hasn't really zeroed in on his three things (or five, or one, for that matter). But he's got time to work on this. He is good at art and design. Despite struggling with a learning disability when he was young, he reads a lot. And he has the makings of a pretty good golfer. But, I'm straying away from the subject (yeah, like that's a first . . .). This weekend we spent a little time trying to convince Lydia that she needed to start thinking about her three things.
And, to be fair, it's not like the woman has nothing going in her life. She has a consuming job in special educational administration. She has a multigenerational and multiethnic (it's like the United Nations at her home) family. And, as illustrated in a previous post entitled The Monogram, she has, in recent years, taken on the responsibility of doing all the cooking at her home. She be busy. And, she's also a voracious shopper. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this girl SHOPS.
She pointed out that she already had a hobby, and that is, again, shopping. I responded that shopping was a good pastime (I mean, I'm in), but that she seriously needed to focus on choosing three things as follows: 1) one that is physical; 2) one that is artistic/creative; 3) one that feeds her soul. She gave me a long look then said shopping is physical -- you have to walk around. Shopping is creative because you have to choose to purchase things that work in concert with each other and/or with things you already own. And, lastly, shopping feeds my soul. So, asked and answered. The girl's good to go.
And this is how I got exercise, got creative, and fed my soul yesterday. I bought a table. It was a table from Pottery Barn that I had lusted after for about three months. Yesterday I discovered that, on line, it was sold out. But I found one at a Los Angeles area store. Billy is not a Pottery Barn kind of guy, and I had to do some campaigning to get him onboard. Luckily, he was in Happy Wife, Happy Life mode (he's in LA; I'm in Carmel, and absence makes the heart, oh you know . . .). With the table ordered over the phone, I took off for Del Monte Center to find out if my iPod (which rolled over and died during our recent Las Chicas weekend) could be resuscitated. It could not. But instead of replacing it, I replaced my phone with an iPhone, which I am already loving (I seem to be in total Mac conversion mode). Last but not least, I bought a raincoat (it hadn't rained since we got here on December 17th, but a front had finally passed through late last week).
Ms. LOL was right. I hiked around and got some exercise at Del Monte (which is an outdoor mall -- love that). I got artistic/creative by picking out a table which will compatibly fit in the eclecticism of our home furnishings. Plus, I picked a color (silver) for my iPhone, as well as a color (black) for my raincoat. And, seriously, no one can say that a spree like that didn't feed my soul.
Now, I might consider changing my three things. I think Lydia might be onto something. I've learned, through the many years of our friendship, that you can do a lot worse than to follow that girl's lead. And, in the last analysis, when judiciously accomplished, there's actually a lot to be said for shopping, shopping, and shopping. I thank you, thank you, and thank you for reading my blog.
No small part of our job, as fristers, is to support and encourage. During our recent Las Chicas weekend, Debra, Lydia and I shared problems and fears; our individual, unique takes on life and philosophy -- even religion raised its head during a weekend filled with conversation, discussion, and, well, silliness. This is what we do when we are together. We turn over stones, we question life's meaning, we laugh a lot, and . . . we shop.
Now, remember my blog's mission statement (if you will) which is stated on the home page? Before beginning my blog, I had this epiphany (if you will) that one should focus on three things in life -- three things which bring you joy; about which you feel passion; which are the top three interests in your life. To reiterate, my three things are cooking, dancing, and writing. Well, this topic came up again, when, during the weekend, we started talking about our eventual retirements (as if). Both Lydia and Deb work for school districts, so when the time comes, they will be guaranteed a pension. No small thing.
Financial support aside, the question of how people will fill their time once they are retired remains. I worry a bit about this with Billy. He hasn't really zeroed in on his three things (or five, or one, for that matter). But he's got time to work on this. He is good at art and design. Despite struggling with a learning disability when he was young, he reads a lot. And he has the makings of a pretty good golfer. But, I'm straying away from the subject (yeah, like that's a first . . .). This weekend we spent a little time trying to convince Lydia that she needed to start thinking about her three things.
And, to be fair, it's not like the woman has nothing going in her life. She has a consuming job in special educational administration. She has a multigenerational and multiethnic (it's like the United Nations at her home) family. And, as illustrated in a previous post entitled The Monogram, she has, in recent years, taken on the responsibility of doing all the cooking at her home. She be busy. And, she's also a voracious shopper. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this girl SHOPS.
She pointed out that she already had a hobby, and that is, again, shopping. I responded that shopping was a good pastime (I mean, I'm in), but that she seriously needed to focus on choosing three things as follows: 1) one that is physical; 2) one that is artistic/creative; 3) one that feeds her soul. She gave me a long look then said shopping is physical -- you have to walk around. Shopping is creative because you have to choose to purchase things that work in concert with each other and/or with things you already own. And, lastly, shopping feeds my soul. So, asked and answered. The girl's good to go.
And this is how I got exercise, got creative, and fed my soul yesterday. I bought a table. It was a table from Pottery Barn that I had lusted after for about three months. Yesterday I discovered that, on line, it was sold out. But I found one at a Los Angeles area store. Billy is not a Pottery Barn kind of guy, and I had to do some campaigning to get him onboard. Luckily, he was in Happy Wife, Happy Life mode (he's in LA; I'm in Carmel, and absence makes the heart, oh you know . . .). With the table ordered over the phone, I took off for Del Monte Center to find out if my iPod (which rolled over and died during our recent Las Chicas weekend) could be resuscitated. It could not. But instead of replacing it, I replaced my phone with an iPhone, which I am already loving (I seem to be in total Mac conversion mode). Last but not least, I bought a raincoat (it hadn't rained since we got here on December 17th, but a front had finally passed through late last week).
Ms. LOL was right. I hiked around and got some exercise at Del Monte (which is an outdoor mall -- love that). I got artistic/creative by picking out a table which will compatibly fit in the eclecticism of our home furnishings. Plus, I picked a color (silver) for my iPhone, as well as a color (black) for my raincoat. And, seriously, no one can say that a spree like that didn't feed my soul.
Now, I might consider changing my three things. I think Lydia might be onto something. I've learned, through the many years of our friendship, that you can do a lot worse than to follow that girl's lead. And, in the last analysis, when judiciously accomplished, there's actually a lot to be said for shopping, shopping, and shopping. I thank you, thank you, and thank you for reading my blog.
January 18, 2012
I Am Better At Hello
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
Lydia, Debra, and I just celebrated our third annual Las Chicas weekend in Carmel. I don't think I am out of line, speaking for the trio, in writing that we look forward to this getaway all the year long. It is a three-day girlfriend fest with no husbands, no kids, no responsibilities, and almost no worries (residuals remain, who are we kidding, this is life). Prior to their arrival, I campaigned, to no avail, to get them to come for four nights instead of three. The last night of their visit, they took me out to dinner at La Bicyclette, despite my protests (at this stage in life I have learned to not fight it, and graciously accept the generosity of someone else picking up a check). In between: we walked, shopped, ate too much; I drank, Lydia drank a little; two of us went to Mass; we spent an afternoon at The Spa at Pebble Beach; we stayed up late talking; we laughed a lot.
The hard part of these weekends is: A) they only come about once a year; B) the time passes way too quickly. For me, the hardest part is saying goodbye. Whenever house guests drive away from my home, or from the house I rent here, I always wave and call out: Wave until you can't see me anymore. Inevitably, they turn the corner and I can no longer see them. I keep waving in hope that they will realize their folly, turn around, and return to tell me they are staying longer. When this doesn't happen, I dry my tears and go inside. Where goodbyes are concerned, I'm a lot like Karen Blixen. I am better at hello.
Renting a house in Carmel was supposed to be a one-time thing. I was going to spend my time alone working on a novel that I completed that first year. I managed to stretch that into another year (rewrites), and thanks to Billy's sharing my love for Carmel, the house rental morphed into an annual event. Each year I spend some portion of my time here by myself. And that always involves people (including Billy) leaving, and leaving me behind. And, it's hardest when they drive away from the house.
Watching Billy go through security at the tiny Monterey Airport is hard. We throw a kiss and a wave at each other, then I leave, usually carrying a copy of the Monterey Herald. I drive out of the airport and back to Carmel, generally running a few errands, perhaps a stop at Whole Foods, before returning to the house. The first day and evening is always an ordeal, but, as the days pass, it does get easier. And being alone is a bit of a luxury. I still have to work. I still have to market and cook. But the days open up with an extravagant offering of time, with the choice to do pretty much whatever I want. I don't have that at home.
Here, I spend a lot of time walking. I take myself to the movies, which is a solitary pleasure I very much enjoy; much more so than going out to eat alone. Each day at the house, I can eat whatever I want without worrying about Billy's preferences and/or health. I can watch TV, and it can be pure chick-flickness all the way. I listen to NPR; I listen to Sondheim or Pink; I take baths; I even watch TV in bed. While I watch little to no TV at home, here it provides some company at the end of a solitary day.
I think my challenge is to bring those simple pleasures home. At home, I'm always undone by the chore or project that needs attention. These things mount up -- filing, organizing, sorting, storing. All the things that come out and accumulate during the night to taunt you during your busy waking hours. I understand what people who have lost a home to a fire say about the final acceptance of that loss -- it can be freeing. In the end, it's the stuff that gets us, I fear. Here, there is less of it. Three tee shirts, three sweaters, three hoodies -- you get the drill. A book or two; my cookbook binder; checkbooks, and the requisite files of financial material; iPod; a handful of necessary cooking utensils from home; a bottle of single malt scotch; a tin of Scottish Breakfast tea. I live lean here, and the lack of clutter clears my usually chaotic mind.
Years ago, my friend, Joan, rented a house here in Carmel. It was way back before she purchased the tiny home that became the first house we ever rented here. Joan was in Carmel during the summer after her third and youngest son went off for the obligatory backpacking trip across Europe during his gap summer between high school and college (Joan and Don felt that their sons needed an early global experience lest they go off to college with a provincial sensibility). Joan wanted to reflect on what she called the second half of her life. Child rearing was finished. What was ahead? She spent her time mostly alone, walking and hiking in and around Carmel. She said that memories floated back to her -- things she hadn't thought of in years. It was a solitary and reflective period of time, and she came home changed.
Perhaps that was the kernel of the idea that brought me to Carmel for a month in January, 2005. Through the years since, I have spent time here alone, with my fristers, with just Billy, and, on occasion, with a houseful of family and/or friends. I've made memories brimmed with conversation, laughter, and solace. Each year, the time here is filled with these things. And, each year, Billy leaves and before he returns, Debra and Lydia come and go. When they drive away, I stand in the street waving until I can't see them anymore. I hope they will turn around and come back. But they never do. Still, while the transition after they leave is hard, the time alone is worthwhile. It brings thoughts to my mind, and onto my MacBook screen that might become a journal entry, poem, short story, or blog post. This, in turn, helps me to feel less bereft, despite the lingering melancholia I always experience after bidding goodbye. No small thing, especially if you are someone, like me, who is better at hello. Wave until you can't see me anymore, Chicas, and thank you all for reading my blog!
Lydia, Debra, and I just celebrated our third annual Las Chicas weekend in Carmel. I don't think I am out of line, speaking for the trio, in writing that we look forward to this getaway all the year long. It is a three-day girlfriend fest with no husbands, no kids, no responsibilities, and almost no worries (residuals remain, who are we kidding, this is life). Prior to their arrival, I campaigned, to no avail, to get them to come for four nights instead of three. The last night of their visit, they took me out to dinner at La Bicyclette, despite my protests (at this stage in life I have learned to not fight it, and graciously accept the generosity of someone else picking up a check). In between: we walked, shopped, ate too much; I drank, Lydia drank a little; two of us went to Mass; we spent an afternoon at The Spa at Pebble Beach; we stayed up late talking; we laughed a lot.
The hard part of these weekends is: A) they only come about once a year; B) the time passes way too quickly. For me, the hardest part is saying goodbye. Whenever house guests drive away from my home, or from the house I rent here, I always wave and call out: Wave until you can't see me anymore. Inevitably, they turn the corner and I can no longer see them. I keep waving in hope that they will realize their folly, turn around, and return to tell me they are staying longer. When this doesn't happen, I dry my tears and go inside. Where goodbyes are concerned, I'm a lot like Karen Blixen. I am better at hello.
Renting a house in Carmel was supposed to be a one-time thing. I was going to spend my time alone working on a novel that I completed that first year. I managed to stretch that into another year (rewrites), and thanks to Billy's sharing my love for Carmel, the house rental morphed into an annual event. Each year I spend some portion of my time here by myself. And that always involves people (including Billy) leaving, and leaving me behind. And, it's hardest when they drive away from the house.
Watching Billy go through security at the tiny Monterey Airport is hard. We throw a kiss and a wave at each other, then I leave, usually carrying a copy of the Monterey Herald. I drive out of the airport and back to Carmel, generally running a few errands, perhaps a stop at Whole Foods, before returning to the house. The first day and evening is always an ordeal, but, as the days pass, it does get easier. And being alone is a bit of a luxury. I still have to work. I still have to market and cook. But the days open up with an extravagant offering of time, with the choice to do pretty much whatever I want. I don't have that at home.
Here, I spend a lot of time walking. I take myself to the movies, which is a solitary pleasure I very much enjoy; much more so than going out to eat alone. Each day at the house, I can eat whatever I want without worrying about Billy's preferences and/or health. I can watch TV, and it can be pure chick-flickness all the way. I listen to NPR; I listen to Sondheim or Pink; I take baths; I even watch TV in bed. While I watch little to no TV at home, here it provides some company at the end of a solitary day.
I think my challenge is to bring those simple pleasures home. At home, I'm always undone by the chore or project that needs attention. These things mount up -- filing, organizing, sorting, storing. All the things that come out and accumulate during the night to taunt you during your busy waking hours. I understand what people who have lost a home to a fire say about the final acceptance of that loss -- it can be freeing. In the end, it's the stuff that gets us, I fear. Here, there is less of it. Three tee shirts, three sweaters, three hoodies -- you get the drill. A book or two; my cookbook binder; checkbooks, and the requisite files of financial material; iPod; a handful of necessary cooking utensils from home; a bottle of single malt scotch; a tin of Scottish Breakfast tea. I live lean here, and the lack of clutter clears my usually chaotic mind.
Years ago, my friend, Joan, rented a house here in Carmel. It was way back before she purchased the tiny home that became the first house we ever rented here. Joan was in Carmel during the summer after her third and youngest son went off for the obligatory backpacking trip across Europe during his gap summer between high school and college (Joan and Don felt that their sons needed an early global experience lest they go off to college with a provincial sensibility). Joan wanted to reflect on what she called the second half of her life. Child rearing was finished. What was ahead? She spent her time mostly alone, walking and hiking in and around Carmel. She said that memories floated back to her -- things she hadn't thought of in years. It was a solitary and reflective period of time, and she came home changed.
Perhaps that was the kernel of the idea that brought me to Carmel for a month in January, 2005. Through the years since, I have spent time here alone, with my fristers, with just Billy, and, on occasion, with a houseful of family and/or friends. I've made memories brimmed with conversation, laughter, and solace. Each year, the time here is filled with these things. And, each year, Billy leaves and before he returns, Debra and Lydia come and go. When they drive away, I stand in the street waving until I can't see them anymore. I hope they will turn around and come back. But they never do. Still, while the transition after they leave is hard, the time alone is worthwhile. It brings thoughts to my mind, and onto my MacBook screen that might become a journal entry, poem, short story, or blog post. This, in turn, helps me to feel less bereft, despite the lingering melancholia I always experience after bidding goodbye. No small thing, especially if you are someone, like me, who is better at hello. Wave until you can't see me anymore, Chicas, and thank you all for reading my blog!
January 12, 2012
Thar She Blows!
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
Billy flew home this morning. Although, home is an ambiguous term at this juncture. He flew back to Los Angeles, to take care of some personal and business business (does that make sense?) for both of us. He'll be back in ten days. I suppose I could just as honestly say that he will be flying back home (here) at that time. For more and more, Carmel feels more like home than Los Angeles does.
Yesterday morning we took a long walk along the point, then around and up Scenic Drive. Then, in the late afternoon, we drove down to the beach to watch the sunset. It was slightly chilly, so we stayed in the car, looking for parking where we could watch the dogs playing on the beach. We didn't find parking where we wanted it, so we wound our way towards the point. And that was where Billy saw it -- the spume of water in a 90-degree trajectory from the ocean surface. Whales! As we watched, we conjectured that there were two of them -- one larger as evidenced by the larger spout of water. We stopped the car to watch, then crept along as they moved further south, into the cove between Carmel and Point Lobos.
Other people gathered at the ocean's edge to watch and point, including two men dressed in jeans, wearing athletic shoes -- one whom I recognized as Father John, the pastor at the Carmel Mission Basilica. I have heard him say Mass about, let's see, four times since I have been in Carmel this year, and many more over the past few years. He has a resonant speaking and singing voice, and it was kinda cool to see him in civies, enjoying a walk and the sight of the whales.
Finally, the sun had set, and, in the dimming light, we were losing track of the whales. So, we headed over to Rio Grill. Rio Grill is usually our first night spot (as those of you who have been following along should know, and this will be on the final), but we didn't get there on our first night after our return this week, as that was our wedding anniversary, which necessitated a different, more romantic (read: Italian) restaurant. So here we were on Billy's last night of Carmel -- for awhile, anyway.
We walked into the crowded bar (Happy Hour equals house cocktails priced at $3. Are you kidding me?), where we've been enjoying martinis for a decade or so, and happily spotted a few empty stools at the bar. But before getting to them, Billy noticed someone we know from town at one of the tables. We stopped for a brief schmooze. See! One more thing I love about this town. We spend only four to six weeks a year here, and yet we know people. We know Dennis, who used to work at New Masters Gallery. We know Celeste, who works at the cool tapas restaurant, Mundaka, and we know Gabe who owns it. We know Erica and Katie at Mission Ranch. It's all just, I don't know, kinda sorta perfect.
We had our martinis, shared an artichoke, a duck tamale, and another thing or two. When we left to go home (see! home!!!), I thought about what a perfect night it was. And how much I wished Billy wasn't flying to LA the next morning, and how very much I wished that we lived in this magical place ALL THE YEAR LONG.
We are not so naive as to think that the experience of year-long residence in Carmel would be the same as our annual retreats here. I mean, there probably are rude people here, and even some traffic. Probably not all people here say Merry Christmas or Happy New Year or even just good morning when they pass you on the street. If you worked hard at it, you could probably find a waitperson or a shop clerk who is in a bad mood. I know that living here wouldn't be all bliss all the time. But it would be better.
Meanwhile, I am grateful for the very large favor of being here now. People here often ask us if we live in town, and I always say for six weeks, we do! So, on my own here today, in the afterglow of a beautiful sunset with whales migrating in the foreground, and those good martinis at Rio Grill, I am thinking that, maybe, if the new year is really, really good to us, we will somehow find the way to be here for good. For that would be better than good. That would be very, very fine. The whales and I thank you for reading my blog. Really they do!
Yesterday morning we took a long walk along the point, then around and up Scenic Drive. Then, in the late afternoon, we drove down to the beach to watch the sunset. It was slightly chilly, so we stayed in the car, looking for parking where we could watch the dogs playing on the beach. We didn't find parking where we wanted it, so we wound our way towards the point. And that was where Billy saw it -- the spume of water in a 90-degree trajectory from the ocean surface. Whales! As we watched, we conjectured that there were two of them -- one larger as evidenced by the larger spout of water. We stopped the car to watch, then crept along as they moved further south, into the cove between Carmel and Point Lobos.
Other people gathered at the ocean's edge to watch and point, including two men dressed in jeans, wearing athletic shoes -- one whom I recognized as Father John, the pastor at the Carmel Mission Basilica. I have heard him say Mass about, let's see, four times since I have been in Carmel this year, and many more over the past few years. He has a resonant speaking and singing voice, and it was kinda cool to see him in civies, enjoying a walk and the sight of the whales.
Finally, the sun had set, and, in the dimming light, we were losing track of the whales. So, we headed over to Rio Grill. Rio Grill is usually our first night spot (as those of you who have been following along should know, and this will be on the final), but we didn't get there on our first night after our return this week, as that was our wedding anniversary, which necessitated a different, more romantic (read: Italian) restaurant. So here we were on Billy's last night of Carmel -- for awhile, anyway.
We walked into the crowded bar (Happy Hour equals house cocktails priced at $3. Are you kidding me?), where we've been enjoying martinis for a decade or so, and happily spotted a few empty stools at the bar. But before getting to them, Billy noticed someone we know from town at one of the tables. We stopped for a brief schmooze. See! One more thing I love about this town. We spend only four to six weeks a year here, and yet we know people. We know Dennis, who used to work at New Masters Gallery. We know Celeste, who works at the cool tapas restaurant, Mundaka, and we know Gabe who owns it. We know Erica and Katie at Mission Ranch. It's all just, I don't know, kinda sorta perfect.
We had our martinis, shared an artichoke, a duck tamale, and another thing or two. When we left to go home (see! home!!!), I thought about what a perfect night it was. And how much I wished Billy wasn't flying to LA the next morning, and how very much I wished that we lived in this magical place ALL THE YEAR LONG.
We are not so naive as to think that the experience of year-long residence in Carmel would be the same as our annual retreats here. I mean, there probably are rude people here, and even some traffic. Probably not all people here say Merry Christmas or Happy New Year or even just good morning when they pass you on the street. If you worked hard at it, you could probably find a waitperson or a shop clerk who is in a bad mood. I know that living here wouldn't be all bliss all the time. But it would be better.
Meanwhile, I am grateful for the very large favor of being here now. People here often ask us if we live in town, and I always say for six weeks, we do! So, on my own here today, in the afterglow of a beautiful sunset with whales migrating in the foreground, and those good martinis at Rio Grill, I am thinking that, maybe, if the new year is really, really good to us, we will somehow find the way to be here for good. For that would be better than good. That would be very, very fine. The whales and I thank you for reading my blog. Really they do!
January 5, 2012
Two Thousand Hits
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
The holidays have come and gone. The house guests have done similarly. Our friends, Todd and Christopher, rented a house here for the week including Christmas and New Year's. Their house was a nine-minute short walk away. Actually, it started at nine minutes. Then it got shorter as I pushed the envelope on the walking speed. I got it down to seven, maybe seven and-a-half.
It was great fun to have the two houses and go between them. Their house has an ocean view from the balcony, whereas ours, almost five blocks further from the beach, has no ocean sound whatsoever. Small price to pay for two fireplaces and a short walk to Mission Ranch, is what we think.
We went thirteen days here before anyone turned on a TV. And, frankly, I was all for bringing in the new year without watching the ball drop on Times Square. I'm the superstitious type. We've watched that (through no fault of our own) the last few years, and look what it has got us! I thought maybe starting the year without it, could put the cosmic tumblers into better alignment. I fool around with the Hoppin' John in this way as well. But, what do I know?
Blogwise, the new year is starting with another milestone. I have just, today, passed the two thousandth hit on What Would Sandra Do? Again, with the joke: either two thousand of you have landed on it once, or one of you has read it two thousand times (I know who you are, Ms. LOL). I was thinking, though, that instead of giving you stats on where the ersatz readers reside, or which posts are the most popular or un-, I would share a couple of anecdotes about my blog's life since One Thousand Hits, which I posted on April 25th of last year.
The first is about my blog doppelganger. On July 1st of last year, I received an email from Sandra. Not my Sandra, however. This Sandra wrote to me to say that she had been dismayed to discover my blog had the same name as hers, and further dismayed to discover that I had started mine quite awhile before she had launched hers (I'm paraphrasing here). We corresponded back and forth a bit, discovering that we had both been English majors in college, and that we actually live near each other in Los Angeles. But the real beauty of this was discovering the other WWSD blog. Her blog is insightful, witty, and, unlike mine, full of photos (my bad). I've enjoyed getting to know her through it, and so can you right here.
Apart from discovering a kindred spirit named Sandra, during the last few months I also got my first comment from a stranger. It was in the post entitled Octoberfest? and it was from Carlos. Evidently, Carlos is affiliated with the Red Tale Ale people in Mendocino. He thoughtfully posted a comment at the bottom of that post -- the second post in which my current favorite beer was mentioned (see Other Cities Only Make Me Love You Best -- available here, for free!).
The only other point I would like to make about my two thousandth hit is that I am gratified that it happened here and now. As those of you who have been following along (again, really . . ?) know, I started my blog just two years ago, on a Dell laptop sitting at a little round table, here in Carmel. And now, here I am again, just two years later in a different house in Carmel, at a small square game table, on a MacBook Pro. Things change; things stay the same. Life is like that . . .
While it is fun to receive a comment from a stranger, I am more humbled by my friends who follow along. As any of you who have spent time with me know, talking is something I like to do a lot. And, increasingly, in a rambling, where the F was I?-style manner. Not that I don't also write in that style (because I do, especially in my love of parenthetical explanations as evidenced in this particularly long one which you are reading right here and now. You're reading this, right? Right?). Anyway, my heart is warmed by the knowledge (or delusion) that my friends are reading, and even occasionally enjoying my posts. That goes for those of you in Hawaii (you know who you are), as well as MCM in New York.
My life has changed a lot since I began What Would Sandra Do? And I needn't reiterate that here. But life does that. Someone said (it may have been Steve Jobs, since there has been so much of that around of late) that change is the only thing that succeeds. I do have a grudging understanding of that. I also know that we mustn't try to stop change. If we do try, it will just drag us along with it. So as the new year begins, I am taking this time to stop; to thank you all, and to take a deep breath before getting back on the big ole, sometimes scary, ride.
Happy New Year. I wish you all health, happiness, and a world at peace. Now, let's go . . .
Thank you all for reading my blog . . . but, what is wrong with you (ok, sorry, couldn't resist . . .)?!
The holidays have come and gone. The house guests have done similarly. Our friends, Todd and Christopher, rented a house here for the week including Christmas and New Year's. Their house was a nine-minute short walk away. Actually, it started at nine minutes. Then it got shorter as I pushed the envelope on the walking speed. I got it down to seven, maybe seven and-a-half.
It was great fun to have the two houses and go between them. Their house has an ocean view from the balcony, whereas ours, almost five blocks further from the beach, has no ocean sound whatsoever. Small price to pay for two fireplaces and a short walk to Mission Ranch, is what we think.
We went thirteen days here before anyone turned on a TV. And, frankly, I was all for bringing in the new year without watching the ball drop on Times Square. I'm the superstitious type. We've watched that (through no fault of our own) the last few years, and look what it has got us! I thought maybe starting the year without it, could put the cosmic tumblers into better alignment. I fool around with the Hoppin' John in this way as well. But, what do I know?
Blogwise, the new year is starting with another milestone. I have just, today, passed the two thousandth hit on What Would Sandra Do? Again, with the joke: either two thousand of you have landed on it once, or one of you has read it two thousand times (I know who you are, Ms. LOL). I was thinking, though, that instead of giving you stats on where the ersatz readers reside, or which posts are the most popular or un-, I would share a couple of anecdotes about my blog's life since One Thousand Hits, which I posted on April 25th of last year.
The first is about my blog doppelganger. On July 1st of last year, I received an email from Sandra. Not my Sandra, however. This Sandra wrote to me to say that she had been dismayed to discover my blog had the same name as hers, and further dismayed to discover that I had started mine quite awhile before she had launched hers (I'm paraphrasing here). We corresponded back and forth a bit, discovering that we had both been English majors in college, and that we actually live near each other in Los Angeles. But the real beauty of this was discovering the other WWSD blog. Her blog is insightful, witty, and, unlike mine, full of photos (my bad). I've enjoyed getting to know her through it, and so can you right here.
Apart from discovering a kindred spirit named Sandra, during the last few months I also got my first comment from a stranger. It was in the post entitled Octoberfest? and it was from Carlos. Evidently, Carlos is affiliated with the Red Tale Ale people in Mendocino. He thoughtfully posted a comment at the bottom of that post -- the second post in which my current favorite beer was mentioned (see Other Cities Only Make Me Love You Best -- available here, for free!).
The only other point I would like to make about my two thousandth hit is that I am gratified that it happened here and now. As those of you who have been following along (again, really . . ?) know, I started my blog just two years ago, on a Dell laptop sitting at a little round table, here in Carmel. And now, here I am again, just two years later in a different house in Carmel, at a small square game table, on a MacBook Pro. Things change; things stay the same. Life is like that . . .
While it is fun to receive a comment from a stranger, I am more humbled by my friends who follow along. As any of you who have spent time with me know, talking is something I like to do a lot. And, increasingly, in a rambling, where the F was I?-style manner. Not that I don't also write in that style (because I do, especially in my love of parenthetical explanations as evidenced in this particularly long one which you are reading right here and now. You're reading this, right? Right?). Anyway, my heart is warmed by the knowledge (or delusion) that my friends are reading, and even occasionally enjoying my posts. That goes for those of you in Hawaii (you know who you are), as well as MCM in New York.
My life has changed a lot since I began What Would Sandra Do? And I needn't reiterate that here. But life does that. Someone said (it may have been Steve Jobs, since there has been so much of that around of late) that change is the only thing that succeeds. I do have a grudging understanding of that. I also know that we mustn't try to stop change. If we do try, it will just drag us along with it. So as the new year begins, I am taking this time to stop; to thank you all, and to take a deep breath before getting back on the big ole, sometimes scary, ride.
Happy New Year. I wish you all health, happiness, and a world at peace. Now, let's go . . .
Thank you all for reading my blog . . . but, what is wrong with you (ok, sorry, couldn't resist . . .)?!
December 20, 2011
I'm Dreaming of a Carmel Christmas
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
Not surprisingly, for those of you who have been following along (seriously, what is wrong with you?), launching ourselves on this trip to Carmel was not easy. We have issues. We have Mom issues. We have business issues. And, increasingly, we have issues getting ourselves organized for travel, and just about everything else. Adding to the stress of this is the fact that we are staying in Carmel for six weeks. SIX WEEKS! Yes, you (and I) read that right.
It all started last year in the little house we have rented since 2005. We arrived in early January, picked up the keys, and entered the house. I immediately became excited, as usual. It was the start of our month-long stay, and the stress of getting ready for it was over. We stowed all of our gear, then hied ourselves over to Rio Grill for our first celebratory martinis of the trip. All was well. Then, something funny happened. A couple of days into our stay, I started to feel discontented with the house. A few days later I remarked upon this to Billy. And guess what? He thought maybe it was time for a change as well. We asked the rental agency to email us a list of other homes for consideration. We thought that we might step down, from three bedrooms to two. We perused the list but didn't find a thing that we liked.
A couple of weeks later, while Billy was back in LA, I went online and started looking at other available rentals. I found one that looked good and drove past it on my way home from Safeway later that day. Called Billy. When he returned that weekend, we walked over to look at it. It was on the opposite (south) side of Ocean Avenue, not far from both the Carmel Mission and Mission Ranch (Clint's place, where we often go to enjoy cocktails on the patio at sunset). As we were walking by it, we noticed a man in the driveway removing his golf clubs from the trunk of his car (which had Minnesota plates on it). Approach and inquire. No, he wasn't the owner. He and his wife had just commenced a two-month vacation rental at the house. We told him that we were interested in renting the house the following year. He talked to us about the owner, and about the house and about . . . you know what? It didn't matter what we were talking about. The point was that I was going to stand there talking to this very nice man until he invited us in to see the house. I know this fact is not pretty, but there it is. And, finally, he did. Mission accomplished, but now Billy and I were both suffering from house-lust.
We talked about the house all the way back to our rental house, and I broached the subject of Christmas. My mom was stable then, but family holidays were pau (see previous post for definition of this Hawaiian word. Oh, never mind, it means done, finished, over). I not only saw us at this house, I also saw us celebrating Christmas Eve at the Mission. I have never been to a Christmas Eve midnight Mass. Could my first be in Carmel, at the lovely Mission Basilica with the awe-inspiring acoustics and choir? Billy, who, if caught at the right time, can operate out of the creed happy wife, happy life, and who, not incidentally, loves Carmel just as much as I do, immediately agreed to a six-week rental which would get us in before Christmas, if the property was available. When we phoned the owner, he told us that the time was fine, and that 800 thread-count bed linens would be on the beds by then. He requested that we send him a deposit. And, the deal was done.
Now, I should let you know that, even though I insinuated myself into being invited into this house, we were not overly nosy about it. We took a quick spin, in and out in less than five. So when we arrived here Saturday night, just a few minutes before midnight, we discovered that the house wasn't exactly what we remembered. It was better.
But, back to the getting-on-the-road part of the story. Sparing you details, let me just write that Saturday was a heinous, evil day. At one point, I dissolved into tears in front of my mother's caregiver. Throughout this really miserable day, I kept thinking . . . if we could just GO. Our rental wasn't to commence until Sunday the 18th, but we knew the house was ready for us. I had suggested to Billy that maybe we could drive up Saturday night. If we arrived that night, at 12:01, it was Sunday, right? Billy was working all day, but he thought it was possible. On Friday, I didn't think so, but by Saturday afternoon, I thought that, just maybe, we could do this.
Billy arrived home just after five o'clock, and at exactly 5:59 we drove down our driveway. We tuned our radio to KPCC; Prairie Home Companion was just starting, and we were on our way up Highway 101, the former Camino Real mission trail, towards Carmel. It was a miracle.
We stopped at In and Out in Santa Maria for animal-style burgers and fries. Then, back on the road. At eleven o'clock we turned off onto Highway 68, and a short while later came down Ocean Avenue into town. The first thing we saw was the enormous tree which is at the top of town, on the median of that street. It was decorated in red, green, and white lights, with its trunk wrapped in red lights. And all the other trees and shrubbery on that street divider all through the town's center were draped in white fairy lights. Ooohhhh look! -- we both exclaimed. Bruno's Market had Happy Holidays in lights on their roof. Many of the storefronts were trimmed with white lights. It was magical.
Although we were tired, we drove down to the beach, then wound our way back through town. We picked up the Monterey Herald, a Carmel Pine Cone, a Carmel Magazine, and a few real estate magazines (Billy) from a newspaper dispenser/stand. Then, we found the house.
We didn't get to sleep until 1:30 that morning. But when we awoke on Sunday, we were in Carmel, in this beautiful house, and we were mostly unpacked. Billy took off for a long walk, and I made it to 11:00 Mass at the Mission. It was the fourth Sunday of Advent. The altar was filled with poinsettias, and carols were sung with the choir. We had arrived.
Being in Carmel, calls to mind Dickens' A Christmas Carol. After coming from a nightmare day in LA, then waking up here, in this village next to the sea, I want to cry out -- God bless us everyone! But instead, I will wish you a happy and merry holiday, be it Hanukkah, Christmas, Solstice --whatever you celebrate. And, once more, in this holiday season, I thank you for reading my blog. Merry Christmas!
Not surprisingly, for those of you who have been following along (seriously, what is wrong with you?), launching ourselves on this trip to Carmel was not easy. We have issues. We have Mom issues. We have business issues. And, increasingly, we have issues getting ourselves organized for travel, and just about everything else. Adding to the stress of this is the fact that we are staying in Carmel for six weeks. SIX WEEKS! Yes, you (and I) read that right.
It all started last year in the little house we have rented since 2005. We arrived in early January, picked up the keys, and entered the house. I immediately became excited, as usual. It was the start of our month-long stay, and the stress of getting ready for it was over. We stowed all of our gear, then hied ourselves over to Rio Grill for our first celebratory martinis of the trip. All was well. Then, something funny happened. A couple of days into our stay, I started to feel discontented with the house. A few days later I remarked upon this to Billy. And guess what? He thought maybe it was time for a change as well. We asked the rental agency to email us a list of other homes for consideration. We thought that we might step down, from three bedrooms to two. We perused the list but didn't find a thing that we liked.
A couple of weeks later, while Billy was back in LA, I went online and started looking at other available rentals. I found one that looked good and drove past it on my way home from Safeway later that day. Called Billy. When he returned that weekend, we walked over to look at it. It was on the opposite (south) side of Ocean Avenue, not far from both the Carmel Mission and Mission Ranch (Clint's place, where we often go to enjoy cocktails on the patio at sunset). As we were walking by it, we noticed a man in the driveway removing his golf clubs from the trunk of his car (which had Minnesota plates on it). Approach and inquire. No, he wasn't the owner. He and his wife had just commenced a two-month vacation rental at the house. We told him that we were interested in renting the house the following year. He talked to us about the owner, and about the house and about . . . you know what? It didn't matter what we were talking about. The point was that I was going to stand there talking to this very nice man until he invited us in to see the house. I know this fact is not pretty, but there it is. And, finally, he did. Mission accomplished, but now Billy and I were both suffering from house-lust.
We talked about the house all the way back to our rental house, and I broached the subject of Christmas. My mom was stable then, but family holidays were pau (see previous post for definition of this Hawaiian word. Oh, never mind, it means done, finished, over). I not only saw us at this house, I also saw us celebrating Christmas Eve at the Mission. I have never been to a Christmas Eve midnight Mass. Could my first be in Carmel, at the lovely Mission Basilica with the awe-inspiring acoustics and choir? Billy, who, if caught at the right time, can operate out of the creed happy wife, happy life, and who, not incidentally, loves Carmel just as much as I do, immediately agreed to a six-week rental which would get us in before Christmas, if the property was available. When we phoned the owner, he told us that the time was fine, and that 800 thread-count bed linens would be on the beds by then. He requested that we send him a deposit. And, the deal was done.
Now, I should let you know that, even though I insinuated myself into being invited into this house, we were not overly nosy about it. We took a quick spin, in and out in less than five. So when we arrived here Saturday night, just a few minutes before midnight, we discovered that the house wasn't exactly what we remembered. It was better.
But, back to the getting-on-the-road part of the story. Sparing you details, let me just write that Saturday was a heinous, evil day. At one point, I dissolved into tears in front of my mother's caregiver. Throughout this really miserable day, I kept thinking . . . if we could just GO. Our rental wasn't to commence until Sunday the 18th, but we knew the house was ready for us. I had suggested to Billy that maybe we could drive up Saturday night. If we arrived that night, at 12:01, it was Sunday, right? Billy was working all day, but he thought it was possible. On Friday, I didn't think so, but by Saturday afternoon, I thought that, just maybe, we could do this.
Billy arrived home just after five o'clock, and at exactly 5:59 we drove down our driveway. We tuned our radio to KPCC; Prairie Home Companion was just starting, and we were on our way up Highway 101, the former Camino Real mission trail, towards Carmel. It was a miracle.
We stopped at In and Out in Santa Maria for animal-style burgers and fries. Then, back on the road. At eleven o'clock we turned off onto Highway 68, and a short while later came down Ocean Avenue into town. The first thing we saw was the enormous tree which is at the top of town, on the median of that street. It was decorated in red, green, and white lights, with its trunk wrapped in red lights. And all the other trees and shrubbery on that street divider all through the town's center were draped in white fairy lights. Ooohhhh look! -- we both exclaimed. Bruno's Market had Happy Holidays in lights on their roof. Many of the storefronts were trimmed with white lights. It was magical.
Although we were tired, we drove down to the beach, then wound our way back through town. We picked up the Monterey Herald, a Carmel Pine Cone, a Carmel Magazine, and a few real estate magazines (Billy) from a newspaper dispenser/stand. Then, we found the house.
We didn't get to sleep until 1:30 that morning. But when we awoke on Sunday, we were in Carmel, in this beautiful house, and we were mostly unpacked. Billy took off for a long walk, and I made it to 11:00 Mass at the Mission. It was the fourth Sunday of Advent. The altar was filled with poinsettias, and carols were sung with the choir. We had arrived.
Being in Carmel, calls to mind Dickens' A Christmas Carol. After coming from a nightmare day in LA, then waking up here, in this village next to the sea, I want to cry out -- God bless us everyone! But instead, I will wish you a happy and merry holiday, be it Hanukkah, Christmas, Solstice --whatever you celebrate. And, once more, in this holiday season, I thank you for reading my blog. Merry Christmas!
February 5, 2011
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).
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).
January 25, 2011
The Monogram
Carmel-by-the-Sea
Here is the great idea that I presented to Billy recently. We were coming up on a non-significant anniversary (not one of those number of years divided by five). So I thought it would be cool to buy monogrammed aprons to celebrate. Now, have I mentioned somewhere along the line that Billy and I cook together? I mean, we cook together a lot. He is Casa Healy's sous chef extraordinaire. Believe me, no one can prep food, including slicing, chopping, and shredding like this man. He is also an excellent bartender, and an ace barbecue chef to boot. What is it that Rita Rudner says about barbecuing? That men will cook if danger is involved. That's Billy -- give him sharp tools, booze, and fire, and he is all in.
Unfortunately, not so in on the apron idea. He even used the "i" word -- something to the effect of "Are you insane? Why would I want an apron?" So I pretty much dropped the idea for the time being. Billy can get a little cranky at times, and the "i" word is one of his favorites when, in his view, people are not seeing eye to "i" with him. I let this roll off my back because it's also meant to be funny, in a weird, hyperbolic way.
Besides, I knew I wasn't insane. Not by a long shot. You see, there is a store here in Carmel that sells yummy, luxurious french linens which can be personalized with embroidery in a myriad of ways. You can find out about this marvelous store here. I always go there when I am in Carmel, and have often bought kitchen towels as gifts for friends. But I've never acquired any of the linens for myself. OK, so maybe my mistake was trying to loop Billy into this transaction.
Looping Lydia into this transaction is another story altogether, however! For a little backstory, I must ask you to remember or review my post entitled The Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves (available right here, for free!). Because once again, Lydia and Debra came to Carmel. And what a time we had. We spent a girlfriend day lounging around in robes at The Spa at Pebble Beach. We shopped a lot (or Lydia did, anyway, as she's our resident pro). They even shopped while I went to Mass on Sunday. We ate, I drank (they're such lightweights), and they took me out twice including one night to La Bicyclette where we had some pretty fine pizza, and some very fine pinot. And in the midst of all this frister fun, I mentioned the aprons. Then, I took them to the store to check out said aprons.
Lydia? Where's Lydia? She circled the store maybe once, eventually zeroing in on the aprons. Soon she had selected one she liked and began looking at the various images that could be embroidered on it. Now, before we go on to that, I must provide the back story that Lydia came late to the cooking party. Last summer, she made a commitment to begin cooking in earnest at her home. Her son had returned from college to attend law school, so she would be cooking daily for at least three. And she has taken this endeavor very seriously, even with some chatter lately about taking cooking classes. So, not to belabor the point, an apron was right up her alley (also right up Billy's, but as I've relented why am I going on about this, I ask you?).
Lydia was momentarily stymied by the choices of iconic images that she could have embroidered on her chosen apron. She could have had lobsters, or olives, or grapes, or herbs, or any of a variety of vegetables and fruits. She could have chosen a whisk, or a few sprigs of lavender. She had scores of options, and she seemed stumped. So I suggested a monogram, showing her one that I thought was pretty, with the initials written in script.
"Oh!" she said, as I handed her the apron with the monogram. I could tell she was considering it.
"Let's see, you would have the large "O" in the middle," I pointed out (obviously, Lydia's last name begins with an O. Duh.).
"What's your middle initial?" I continued.
"L."
"L?"
"Yeah, it's L."
Pregnant pause.
"Are you telling me that your monogram is L-O-L?"
"Yeah."
"No-o-o-o . . ."
"Yeah, it is," she said, smiling, as this had inexplicably never occured to her.
"Are you kidding me?"
A novice cook, with a family frankly surprised that she has taken this on and is making many things "from scratch." And . . . wait for it . . . an apron that states L-O-L. You just can't make up stuff like this.
Lydia purchased her apron, choosing a whimsical font for her initials, and it turned out perfectly. And, not to steal the thunder here, but I got one too. One that has olives embroidered on it (appetizer de rigeur at our house and here), and says Casa Healy. I'm hoping that Billy will be envious when he sees it, and perhaps request his own. But not as envious as I am about Lydia's acrynomic monogram.
Alas, the visit of Las Chicas passed too quickly, but not before we managed to laugh ourselves all the way to tears several times. In a store with a collection of wry slogans on magnets, Debra and I needed tissues after a laughing fit. And I know it won't sound funny here (rather mean-spirited, in fact, but what the heck). It was a characture of a middle-aged man and his portly wife. The caption read: Not only are you not the woman I married, but it looks as if you ATE her. OK, we were a bit punchy from an all-day shopping excursion with Lydia, which was, as usual, exhausting, comprehensive, and tons of fun. And, I must say that until you've spent a day like that, with these bright and funny women, you really can't appreciate the meaning of LOL. You must trust me about this. Thank you for reading my blog (and thanks for coming to Carmel, Las Chicas!).
Here is the great idea that I presented to Billy recently. We were coming up on a non-significant anniversary (not one of those number of years divided by five). So I thought it would be cool to buy monogrammed aprons to celebrate. Now, have I mentioned somewhere along the line that Billy and I cook together? I mean, we cook together a lot. He is Casa Healy's sous chef extraordinaire. Believe me, no one can prep food, including slicing, chopping, and shredding like this man. He is also an excellent bartender, and an ace barbecue chef to boot. What is it that Rita Rudner says about barbecuing? That men will cook if danger is involved. That's Billy -- give him sharp tools, booze, and fire, and he is all in.
Unfortunately, not so in on the apron idea. He even used the "i" word -- something to the effect of "Are you insane? Why would I want an apron?" So I pretty much dropped the idea for the time being. Billy can get a little cranky at times, and the "i" word is one of his favorites when, in his view, people are not seeing eye to "i" with him. I let this roll off my back because it's also meant to be funny, in a weird, hyperbolic way.
Besides, I knew I wasn't insane. Not by a long shot. You see, there is a store here in Carmel that sells yummy, luxurious french linens which can be personalized with embroidery in a myriad of ways. You can find out about this marvelous store here. I always go there when I am in Carmel, and have often bought kitchen towels as gifts for friends. But I've never acquired any of the linens for myself. OK, so maybe my mistake was trying to loop Billy into this transaction.
Looping Lydia into this transaction is another story altogether, however! For a little backstory, I must ask you to remember or review my post entitled The Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves (available right here, for free!). Because once again, Lydia and Debra came to Carmel. And what a time we had. We spent a girlfriend day lounging around in robes at The Spa at Pebble Beach. We shopped a lot (or Lydia did, anyway, as she's our resident pro). They even shopped while I went to Mass on Sunday. We ate, I drank (they're such lightweights), and they took me out twice including one night to La Bicyclette where we had some pretty fine pizza, and some very fine pinot. And in the midst of all this frister fun, I mentioned the aprons. Then, I took them to the store to check out said aprons.
Lydia? Where's Lydia? She circled the store maybe once, eventually zeroing in on the aprons. Soon she had selected one she liked and began looking at the various images that could be embroidered on it. Now, before we go on to that, I must provide the back story that Lydia came late to the cooking party. Last summer, she made a commitment to begin cooking in earnest at her home. Her son had returned from college to attend law school, so she would be cooking daily for at least three. And she has taken this endeavor very seriously, even with some chatter lately about taking cooking classes. So, not to belabor the point, an apron was right up her alley (also right up Billy's, but as I've relented why am I going on about this, I ask you?).
Lydia was momentarily stymied by the choices of iconic images that she could have embroidered on her chosen apron. She could have had lobsters, or olives, or grapes, or herbs, or any of a variety of vegetables and fruits. She could have chosen a whisk, or a few sprigs of lavender. She had scores of options, and she seemed stumped. So I suggested a monogram, showing her one that I thought was pretty, with the initials written in script.
"Oh!" she said, as I handed her the apron with the monogram. I could tell she was considering it.
"Let's see, you would have the large "O" in the middle," I pointed out (obviously, Lydia's last name begins with an O. Duh.).
"What's your middle initial?" I continued.
"L."
"L?"
"Yeah, it's L."
Pregnant pause.
"Are you telling me that your monogram is L-O-L?"
"Yeah."
"No-o-o-o . . ."
"Yeah, it is," she said, smiling, as this had inexplicably never occured to her.
"Are you kidding me?"
A novice cook, with a family frankly surprised that she has taken this on and is making many things "from scratch." And . . . wait for it . . . an apron that states L-O-L. You just can't make up stuff like this.
Lydia purchased her apron, choosing a whimsical font for her initials, and it turned out perfectly. And, not to steal the thunder here, but I got one too. One that has olives embroidered on it (appetizer de rigeur at our house and here), and says Casa Healy. I'm hoping that Billy will be envious when he sees it, and perhaps request his own. But not as envious as I am about Lydia's acrynomic monogram.
Alas, the visit of Las Chicas passed too quickly, but not before we managed to laugh ourselves all the way to tears several times. In a store with a collection of wry slogans on magnets, Debra and I needed tissues after a laughing fit. And I know it won't sound funny here (rather mean-spirited, in fact, but what the heck). It was a characture of a middle-aged man and his portly wife. The caption read: Not only are you not the woman I married, but it looks as if you ATE her. OK, we were a bit punchy from an all-day shopping excursion with Lydia, which was, as usual, exhausting, comprehensive, and tons of fun. And, I must say that until you've spent a day like that, with these bright and funny women, you really can't appreciate the meaning of LOL. You must trust me about this. Thank you for reading my blog (and thanks for coming to Carmel, Las Chicas!).
January 15, 2011
Must You Be So Shellfish?
Carmel-by-the-Sea, California
We've been here for a week now, and the best word I can use to describe the experience is . . . cold. We were lucky and missed rain in Carmel, by driving up in the opposite direction of a storm, passing through it that night that we crawled into Santa Barbara. Everyone here in Carmel is overjoyed that the sun has been with us everyday, as they had days of rain before our arrival. And I agree that I would rather not have the rain. We walk several miles most days here, partly along Scenic Drive which fronts the beach, wrapping around the point here. It's stunningly beautiful. So, good on the no rain deal. But did I mention that it's cold?
Coming every year, as we do, we've run the gamut of weather. I can clearly remember that the first year, during the time I was here alone, I walked to the beach to watch the sunset in cargo pants, a short-sleeved tee-shirt and sandals. The amount of times that we have eaten lunch or had cocktails on an outdoor patio is countless. On the other hand, one year we drove into town in the beginning of a power outage which lasted several days. Luckily for us, it was in the other half of the town. Unluckily, that's the half which has all three markets, and when we arrive at the house, the refrigerator is completely, 100% empty. We bring a little bit of food, and enough wine to get us through the first few days (in case of an emergency like this!), but no fresh food. That year we discovered how delicious linguini with oil, garlic, and chopped kalamata olives can be. One year, when I was here with our late Australian Shepherd (see picture of her adorableness right here), it rained for eight days straight. Every time there was a break, and I picked up her leash to take her on a walk, we got as far as the front porch and it began coming down again. It's central coast California. And, it's January. We expect the best and the worst. But this year -- not to put too fine a point on it, did I mention that it's COLD?
So this morning, while anticipating Billy's mom's arrival at Monterey airport, we are trying to make plans for her visit during this frigid spell of weather. Billy wants to take her on the 17-mile drive through Pebble Beach. Let's see, that makes about 17,000 miles on that route accumulated through decades of visits here. Frankly, I'd rather stay home and stick sharp things in my eyes. But I will dutifully, if not cheerfully, join them if that is what they decide. It is beautiful, what with the Del Monte forest conveniently placed right next to the craggy coast. Just watch out for those golf balls soaring overhead. Fore . . .
I hope that we will go to Montrio restaurant which is in a converted fire station in downtown Monterey. We used to go there a lot when we first started coming up to Carmel. I always ordered the same thing. We would share an artichoke. Then, I would have asparagus as my salad. If memory serves, it was bathed in a vinaigrette. My main course was a shellfish appetizer, which I ate with a side of polenta. The polenta was light and custardy, but had a decent crust to it. I, perhaps not too accurately, remember the shellfish, as being crab and clams and mussels in an herby, olive-oily sauce (ingredients of which truly escapes my memory), served in a small cast iron skillet. But I clearly recall raking forkfuls of the polenta through that sauce. It was amazing. After a new chef took over, I could still order it, though it was off the menu. Eventually no one there knew what we were talking about when we tried to order it. And I get that. It was a new chef, a new menu. And, I believe, he is still there. And we do still go. I love the space, and we've continued to have some very good meals there, even if the shellfish appetizer has disappeared.
Meanwhile, a couple of years back, I ran across a recipe from the February 2008 issue of Bon Appetit. It rather reminded me of the shellfish dish from Montrio. Billy was catching a ride back to Carmel with our friends, Gwen and Henry. They were arriving around dinnertime, so I decided to give this a whack. It wasn't the Montrio dish, but it was lovely. It is . . .
Roasted Shellfish
1 tablespoon whole coriander seeds
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 pounds stone crab claws or Canadian snow crab legs,
shells cracked
8 farmed mussels, scrubbed, debearded
1/2 cup chopped shallots
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/3 cup fresh Meyer lemon juice (or 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice,
mixed with 1/4 cup fresh orange juice)
2 tablespoons butter
Chopped fresh chives
Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Process coriander and fennel seeds in spice grinder until coarsely ground. Place heavy roasting pan over two burners and heat over medium heat. Add ground coriander and fennel seeds and stir one minute. Add olive oil, cracked crab, Manila clams, and mussels; stir to coat. Place pan in oven. Roast until crab is heated through and clams and mussels have opened, stirring occasionally and transferring clams and mussels to plate as they open (about ten minutes -- discard any that do not open).
Using tongs, transfer crab, and any remaining clams and mussels to plate; tent with foil to keep warm. Heat same pan over two burners, over high heat. Add shallots and wine and boil for one minute. Add lemon juice and boil until sauce thickens slightly -- about two minutes. Whisk in butter. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Pour sauce over shellfish or do as I do, place shellfish back in roasting pan and toss with sauce. Sprinkle chives over. Bring either platter or roaster to the center of the table.
4 servings, or two if you're . . . us.
It's best served this way: with a decent California chardonnay (and we're not chardonnay drinkers as a rule, so you must trust me about this), and the finest sourdough bread you can find. And, just to be persnickety, I would also add that you should serve the bread with the best butter you can find. Specialty stores sometimes stock artisanal butter from Sonoma County, California, or the state of Vermont. It is well worth buying if you are certain it is fresh. Who knew butter was so good? As my friend, Lisa, says (and I thoroughly agree with her), these days I'd rather have good bread and butter than dessert. However, if you need more green than just the chives at this meal, I would suggest a simply-dressed salad of arugula or like bitter greens. And would further suggest you serve it afterwards, in an uppity and European manner.
So there you have it. It's not Montrio of yesterday, but it's lovely and very, very easy. The perfect dish for company on a winter night in Carmel. Best served after the town's nightly migration to watch the sunset at the beach or at Mission Ranch (where, btw, we saw Clint Eastwood last night . . .). Enjoy! And, thank you for reading my blog.
We've been here for a week now, and the best word I can use to describe the experience is . . . cold. We were lucky and missed rain in Carmel, by driving up in the opposite direction of a storm, passing through it that night that we crawled into Santa Barbara. Everyone here in Carmel is overjoyed that the sun has been with us everyday, as they had days of rain before our arrival. And I agree that I would rather not have the rain. We walk several miles most days here, partly along Scenic Drive which fronts the beach, wrapping around the point here. It's stunningly beautiful. So, good on the no rain deal. But did I mention that it's cold?
Coming every year, as we do, we've run the gamut of weather. I can clearly remember that the first year, during the time I was here alone, I walked to the beach to watch the sunset in cargo pants, a short-sleeved tee-shirt and sandals. The amount of times that we have eaten lunch or had cocktails on an outdoor patio is countless. On the other hand, one year we drove into town in the beginning of a power outage which lasted several days. Luckily for us, it was in the other half of the town. Unluckily, that's the half which has all three markets, and when we arrive at the house, the refrigerator is completely, 100% empty. We bring a little bit of food, and enough wine to get us through the first few days (in case of an emergency like this!), but no fresh food. That year we discovered how delicious linguini with oil, garlic, and chopped kalamata olives can be. One year, when I was here with our late Australian Shepherd (see picture of her adorableness right here), it rained for eight days straight. Every time there was a break, and I picked up her leash to take her on a walk, we got as far as the front porch and it began coming down again. It's central coast California. And, it's January. We expect the best and the worst. But this year -- not to put too fine a point on it, did I mention that it's COLD?
So this morning, while anticipating Billy's mom's arrival at Monterey airport, we are trying to make plans for her visit during this frigid spell of weather. Billy wants to take her on the 17-mile drive through Pebble Beach. Let's see, that makes about 17,000 miles on that route accumulated through decades of visits here. Frankly, I'd rather stay home and stick sharp things in my eyes. But I will dutifully, if not cheerfully, join them if that is what they decide. It is beautiful, what with the Del Monte forest conveniently placed right next to the craggy coast. Just watch out for those golf balls soaring overhead. Fore . . .
I hope that we will go to Montrio restaurant which is in a converted fire station in downtown Monterey. We used to go there a lot when we first started coming up to Carmel. I always ordered the same thing. We would share an artichoke. Then, I would have asparagus as my salad. If memory serves, it was bathed in a vinaigrette. My main course was a shellfish appetizer, which I ate with a side of polenta. The polenta was light and custardy, but had a decent crust to it. I, perhaps not too accurately, remember the shellfish, as being crab and clams and mussels in an herby, olive-oily sauce (ingredients of which truly escapes my memory), served in a small cast iron skillet. But I clearly recall raking forkfuls of the polenta through that sauce. It was amazing. After a new chef took over, I could still order it, though it was off the menu. Eventually no one there knew what we were talking about when we tried to order it. And I get that. It was a new chef, a new menu. And, I believe, he is still there. And we do still go. I love the space, and we've continued to have some very good meals there, even if the shellfish appetizer has disappeared.
Meanwhile, a couple of years back, I ran across a recipe from the February 2008 issue of Bon Appetit. It rather reminded me of the shellfish dish from Montrio. Billy was catching a ride back to Carmel with our friends, Gwen and Henry. They were arriving around dinnertime, so I decided to give this a whack. It wasn't the Montrio dish, but it was lovely. It is . . .
Roasted Shellfish
1 tablespoon whole coriander seeds
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 pounds stone crab claws or Canadian snow crab legs,
shells cracked
8 farmed mussels, scrubbed, debearded
1/2 cup chopped shallots
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/3 cup fresh Meyer lemon juice (or 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice,
mixed with 1/4 cup fresh orange juice)
2 tablespoons butter
Chopped fresh chives
Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Process coriander and fennel seeds in spice grinder until coarsely ground. Place heavy roasting pan over two burners and heat over medium heat. Add ground coriander and fennel seeds and stir one minute. Add olive oil, cracked crab, Manila clams, and mussels; stir to coat. Place pan in oven. Roast until crab is heated through and clams and mussels have opened, stirring occasionally and transferring clams and mussels to plate as they open (about ten minutes -- discard any that do not open).
Using tongs, transfer crab, and any remaining clams and mussels to plate; tent with foil to keep warm. Heat same pan over two burners, over high heat. Add shallots and wine and boil for one minute. Add lemon juice and boil until sauce thickens slightly -- about two minutes. Whisk in butter. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Pour sauce over shellfish or do as I do, place shellfish back in roasting pan and toss with sauce. Sprinkle chives over. Bring either platter or roaster to the center of the table.
4 servings, or two if you're . . . us.
It's best served this way: with a decent California chardonnay (and we're not chardonnay drinkers as a rule, so you must trust me about this), and the finest sourdough bread you can find. And, just to be persnickety, I would also add that you should serve the bread with the best butter you can find. Specialty stores sometimes stock artisanal butter from Sonoma County, California, or the state of Vermont. It is well worth buying if you are certain it is fresh. Who knew butter was so good? As my friend, Lisa, says (and I thoroughly agree with her), these days I'd rather have good bread and butter than dessert. However, if you need more green than just the chives at this meal, I would suggest a simply-dressed salad of arugula or like bitter greens. And would further suggest you serve it afterwards, in an uppity and European manner.
So there you have it. It's not Montrio of yesterday, but it's lovely and very, very easy. The perfect dish for company on a winter night in Carmel. Best served after the town's nightly migration to watch the sunset at the beach or at Mission Ranch (where, btw, we saw Clint Eastwood last night . . .). Enjoy! And, thank you for reading my blog.
March 14, 2010
Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves
Los Angeles, California
OK, I wrote that title because I liked the sound of it. Yes, there is a sisterhood. Traveling scarves? Not so much. I mean, I suppose we could designate a scarf that we might pass around, say, every quarter or so of the year. But, it wouldn't really have much significance. Probably because we're no longer fifteen years old. In fact, two of us have children older than that -- not I of course, childless and for the moment, dogless as well (see previous post).
So, let's just move on to the sisterhood part. I have known these two women, Debra and Lydia, for a long, long time. That's if we consider anything that includes multiples of decades as a solid measure of time. For some of this time our connection was tenuous. I'm sure there were years when we didn't see each other at all. But there was always a thread, supported by annual holiday and/or birthday cards, occasional lunches, and finally with everyone aboard and online, emails.
And then things got dicey in our lives. Problems with our families, the recession, job insecurities -- HELP! The call went out. We found a coffee shop that was somewhat centrally located and picked a time which would dodge the expense of a real meal, and began to meet on Saturdays -- generally moaning, venting, and laughing in a more or less circular motion. I realized that I felt better when I left the coffee shop than when I walked in. And that wasn't as a result of the good date nut bread, nor the lukewarm tea -- always lukewarm, even when they first bring it to you. But no matter. Unlike most other areas in my life, food was not the object of the exercise.
These women have been in my life for a long time. We met as we were cusping into our 30s, when we were all enrolled in the same aerobics class. Twice a week we worked out to pretty bad music for about an hour. Afterwards, on the second of the two days per week, we would hit the Jack-in-the-Box that resided in the same shopping center, and share nachos. I always drank Diet Coke with lemon, and had to fight for that lemon slice every single time. And over this nutritionally dubious repast, we tried to solve the problems of our microcosmic world. An example as follows:
When, for a short time my sister-in-law joined us, we once had a conversation about housekeepers. After I said that my housekeeper watched TV at the end of her work day while waiting for her ride to arrive, my sister-in-law stated that she wouldn't let a housekeeper do this.
"I'd give her something extra to do while she was waiting, like cleaning the baseboards," she said.
"I would never think of having anyone clean my baseboards," Debra responded.
"What's a baseboard?" asked Lydia.
That was in the 80s. Fast forward to late 2009. When we met in December, we were unable to schedule our next meeting due first to holiday constraints and then to my spending the month of January in Carmel. But we worked it out. I invited them to join me in Carmel.
They arrived for a weekend towards the end of my stay there. The weather was clear and beautiful. We walked each day, and Lydia shopped (and I mean, she shopped). I cooked each evening, and they did all the clean up! We drank wine, played cards until one in the morning -- and on the last night of their visit we ate pie at midnight! I mean, I tell you. And we talked. It was so much fun to have them there with me in Carmel. I even drove them to the beach one night so that they could watch the sunset. We phoned Billy from the car, and all talked to him via a conference call courtesy of Bluetooth. When they left on a Sunday, I was sorry, once again, to say goodbye to house guests. But knew that I would soon see them on Saturday afternoons, once I returned to Los Angeles.
It was part of what made this year's stay so perfect, and makes me miss Carmel so much, now that I am back home with ten months to go before I return. It was a blast to share it with Debra and Lydia. They came to Carmel. And, it being January, they did bring scarves. So, I guess there were traveling scarves after all. Thanks for reading my blog.
OK, I wrote that title because I liked the sound of it. Yes, there is a sisterhood. Traveling scarves? Not so much. I mean, I suppose we could designate a scarf that we might pass around, say, every quarter or so of the year. But, it wouldn't really have much significance. Probably because we're no longer fifteen years old. In fact, two of us have children older than that -- not I of course, childless and for the moment, dogless as well (see previous post).
So, let's just move on to the sisterhood part. I have known these two women, Debra and Lydia, for a long, long time. That's if we consider anything that includes multiples of decades as a solid measure of time. For some of this time our connection was tenuous. I'm sure there were years when we didn't see each other at all. But there was always a thread, supported by annual holiday and/or birthday cards, occasional lunches, and finally with everyone aboard and online, emails.
And then things got dicey in our lives. Problems with our families, the recession, job insecurities -- HELP! The call went out. We found a coffee shop that was somewhat centrally located and picked a time which would dodge the expense of a real meal, and began to meet on Saturdays -- generally moaning, venting, and laughing in a more or less circular motion. I realized that I felt better when I left the coffee shop than when I walked in. And that wasn't as a result of the good date nut bread, nor the lukewarm tea -- always lukewarm, even when they first bring it to you. But no matter. Unlike most other areas in my life, food was not the object of the exercise.
These women have been in my life for a long time. We met as we were cusping into our 30s, when we were all enrolled in the same aerobics class. Twice a week we worked out to pretty bad music for about an hour. Afterwards, on the second of the two days per week, we would hit the Jack-in-the-Box that resided in the same shopping center, and share nachos. I always drank Diet Coke with lemon, and had to fight for that lemon slice every single time. And over this nutritionally dubious repast, we tried to solve the problems of our microcosmic world. An example as follows:
When, for a short time my sister-in-law joined us, we once had a conversation about housekeepers. After I said that my housekeeper watched TV at the end of her work day while waiting for her ride to arrive, my sister-in-law stated that she wouldn't let a housekeeper do this.
"I'd give her something extra to do while she was waiting, like cleaning the baseboards," she said.
"I would never think of having anyone clean my baseboards," Debra responded.
"What's a baseboard?" asked Lydia.
That was in the 80s. Fast forward to late 2009. When we met in December, we were unable to schedule our next meeting due first to holiday constraints and then to my spending the month of January in Carmel. But we worked it out. I invited them to join me in Carmel.
They arrived for a weekend towards the end of my stay there. The weather was clear and beautiful. We walked each day, and Lydia shopped (and I mean, she shopped). I cooked each evening, and they did all the clean up! We drank wine, played cards until one in the morning -- and on the last night of their visit we ate pie at midnight! I mean, I tell you. And we talked. It was so much fun to have them there with me in Carmel. I even drove them to the beach one night so that they could watch the sunset. We phoned Billy from the car, and all talked to him via a conference call courtesy of Bluetooth. When they left on a Sunday, I was sorry, once again, to say goodbye to house guests. But knew that I would soon see them on Saturday afternoons, once I returned to Los Angeles.
It was part of what made this year's stay so perfect, and makes me miss Carmel so much, now that I am back home with ten months to go before I return. It was a blast to share it with Debra and Lydia. They came to Carmel. And, it being January, they did bring scarves. So, I guess there were traveling scarves after all. Thanks for reading my blog.
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About Me
- Bronte Healy
- California, United States
- Once, I came up with this brilliant idea (well, I thought so, anyway) that the key to happiness was to concentrate on three things -- to choose three interests, then focus and funnel your energy into that trio. I was an English major in college and have always written in some shape or form. So, my first choice was writing. I've always kept journals, and have also written plays, novels, poetry, and shopping lists. I do have a day job. It deals with numbers (assets and finances). Go figure. I went to college at a California University. I live in California, Los Angeles, but not downtown. No children, and sadly, between dogs at the moment (dog person, not a cat person). Enough info? I was going for just enough to not be a cypher, yet not enough to entice a stalker. And, I started my blog after being dragged, kicking and screaming, to do so. Blogs! Read about ME here, right? But I have been advised that this is a way to write regularly, and to put your writing OUT THERE. So, here goes. My name is Bronte Healy. Thanks for reading my blog.