Spring (Mini) Break

Santa Barbara, California

Easter has passed, and Billy and I are taking a five-day mini-break up the coast. The origins of this exodus, from LA and our business, goes back to last year, when Billy declared that he would never again go all the way through mid-winter and all of spring without a break. Last year, he was working six-days a week, and it was killing. But with the housing market and economics looking up, he is back to his normal five-day work week. In spite of that, I had it in my brain that he needed a spring break. He was resistant. I persevered.

We've come to Santa Barbara for a salsa event at Santa Barbara Museum of Art. One of my favorite groups, Ricardo Lemvo and Makina Loca, is performing there. I figured this was exactly the kind of high-browed salsa event that I could get Billy out to, what with food and drink along with the salsa music. I don't know if there will be dancing, but frankly, where there is salsa music, there is dancing--dance floor not necessary under all circumstances.

From here we are returning to Carmel. It's been almost four months since we left, and a longing develops. The difficulty will be to narrow down our favorite activities. Billy wants us to golf. I want to go to the Mission. There will be shopping. And the restaurants: our trad first nighter is Rio Grill. But we absolutely must get to The Bench at Pebble Beach. And at the tail end of January we discovered 1833 where I had the most amazing cocktail called Commander-In-Chief which you can learn more about here. In our short time there, we will need to pack in, like, a lot.

When we return home on Monday, it will be the middle of April and we will begin our progression towards summer at Casa Healy. We are busy prepping the house for this time of long afternoons and warm summer nights. We have houseguests coming in just before the solstice, and that is always a good excuse to spruce up. Carpets have been cleaned, trees will be trimmed, windows will be washed and lots of food will be stocked. I love the change of seasons and the different produce it provides. I'm looking forward to roasting asparagus in the manner of Roasted Broccoli and Shrimp (recipe available right here and now on this very blog). I am looking forward to the fragrance of barbecued ribs and grilled corn. I am looking forward to the tomatoes that Billy planted. Hell, I'm just looking forward to summer, as usual.

But that doesn't take away from the delight of a road trip, taken in the early spring when the hills of the California coast are lush and green, and we listen and sing along with a playlist designed for the road, just as we have been doing since we first met in our twenties. That's part of the beauty of a mini-break. You get to break away from it all: work; responsibilities; the long slog of the dark days of winter. You get to sing, play, and make memories in favorite places. It's spring. And, while we're no longer crazily celebrating the spring break of our school years, for us, our spring mini-break is every bit as joyful. Happy Spring to you all, and thank you for reading my blog! 

Echoes

Los Angeles, California

We left Carmel yesterday, after a few days of intermittent packing (to avoid that last day marathon thing). We always try to visit some favorite restaurants in the last week, and to have drinks at favorite watering holes. We did a bang-up job of this including a dinner at a local fave Mundaka, an operation manned by our favorite local proprietor, Gabe Georis. For years we rented a house across the street from Gabe's parents -- this during the time that Gabe and his brother were growing up. The house looked a lot like the restaurant Casanova, which the family owns.

Driving away from our home-away-from-home is hard, but, after five and a-half weeks it was time to return to LA. Not that there was much I was missing there besides my mom, my friends, and my salsa community. Didn't miss my house, much. Didn't miss my community where everyone is pretty cranky and aggressive. Didn't miss Ventura Boulevard which is ugly and congested.The Valley was never like that, but it has changed a lot.

We will return to Carmel in less than eleven months, and have some other travel plans loosely coming together for the coming seasons. In the meantime, I will spend forty days observing Lent commencing shortly. There will be a full baseball season, one in which I hope the Dodgers do better than last year (they should, with that payroll). We will do some work and some updating on our home. Some gardening. And we'll enjoy our pool during the summer months. All good things, though you never know what is around the corner.

Meanwhile, life for the people here in Carmel will go on, but Carmel will cease to exist for us, much like the village of Brigadoon. Except in this case, our village comes to life once a year, thankfully, rather than once each century. On Sundays, parishioners will attend Mass at the Mission, and men, mostly, will play golf at Pebble Beach. The Bench will fill up on both sunny and not-so-sunny days, and people will drink wine and Bloody Marys by the fire pits. The bagpiper will play down the sun each night at the Inn at Spanish Bay. Happy hours will continue at The Rio Grill, and a ton of artichokes will be fire-roasted and sent out from the kitchen. Tourists will walk around the Plaza, and up and down Ocean Avenue, over sidewalks raised and cracked by tree roots, past the shops with the water bowls set outside for dogs. Surfers will surf at Carmel Beach then change out of their wetsuits behind the screen of their open car (or truck) doors. Sunsets will come and go, some brilliant, some not so.

The house that we rent will hold other occupants. Christine will come to oversee any necessary repairs and do the weekly cleaning. We will be a memory, just part of the cycle of each year. The owners will come in and out between other renters. Will any of these people hear our echoes? We spent New Year's Eve here with Todd and Christopher, and Christopher's parents, Marge and Jerry. Will they hear the echoes of that evening, or of the afternoon when Carole and Todd came by to pick up something that Christopher needed for Christmas dinner, and we cracked open the BIG bottle of Christmas Anchor Steam ale? Will they hear Lydia, Debra, and I who, while sitting in our accustomed spots on the sofas by the fireplace talking and laughing, complained just the tiniest bit about our respective husbands' foibles? Will they hear the residual echoes of my iPod playing samba and Bach and American songbook standards and some contemporary hits, always, always mixed with as much salsa and now bachata as I can sneak in? We leave our echoes behind, but they ride down Highway 101 with us as well. Back to Los Angeles, where the memories of the weeks we spent in our favorite place will be warmly recalled throughout the year; right up until we drive back into town next December. We'll drive down Ocean Avenue, just after midnight, where the Christmas tree will be blazing, and we will joyfully know that we have weeks ahead of us to spend with each other and with special friends in this magical place that we love. Le sigh. And, thank you for reading my blog.

Party Like It's 1999

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

And so, we came to Carmel, driving up late last Saturday night in a fairly light rain. We drove out through Westlake Village and Thousand Oaks, passing the off ramps for both salsa clubs where I regularly dance. I would be leaving salsa behind me, mas o menos, as I concentrated on taking long walks with Billy, working on a writing project, and spending as much time as possible with good, close friends. Truly the object of the exercise, and starting with Todd, Christopher, and Carole who arrived earlier on Saturday.

Billy and I hit the ground running on Sunday after I attended Mass, getting our Trader Joe's and Safeway marketing out of the way before we all went to an early happy hour at Rio Grill, then back to their house for an improvised salmon dinner. Christopher's parents are also here, staying in the guesthouse of the home Todd and Christopher rent. The guesthouse is called The Dog House (the big house being called, The Big House -- don't blame me I don't make this stuff up).

Todd & Christopher's older black lab, Cole, took the next morning off, while the rest of us watched Frenzy, their indomitable goldendoodle, steal as many balls as she could get her paws on while running and jumping on the leash-free dog beach, in the brilliant sunshine of a post-rainy day in Carmel.

On Christmas Eve the seven of us had a celebratory dinner at Montrio in Monterey. Billy and I stayed up late watching A Christmas Story until we fell asleep. We raced out of bed in the morning and off to Mass. The first carol was a Latin-themed one which I loved, this and all the rest of the music with the choir augmented by ten or so pieces of strings and brass. Afterwards, we went home to bake two cakes (really) and roast a ham (seriously). We brought those three items to their home, plus a balloon-modeling kit and the Christmas crackers which I was supposed to bring to the restaurant the night before. A lucky oversight, as the crackers contained numbered whistles in different pitches which we used to play a variety of Christmas carols according to the numbered score which was enclosed. This conducted, quite competently, by Todd. Imagine the extra accompaniment of howling laughter. Christopher had prepared poached halibut osso bucco with gremolata and whipped potatoes with herbs. I'm not kidding. His composed roasted pear and frisee salad with hazelnuts and blue cheese was amazing. My chocolate ganache cake (minus the ganache) and Mission Cake made with cranberries (recipe available here in a post entitled When In Rome -- while supplies last so hurry) rounded out the meal. The balloon-modeling kit came with instructions so that you could create animals. Carole and Christopher actually accomplished this, while others twisted together the long balloons into hats, creating headpieces worthy of The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins. More laughter, of course.

We saw Lincoln (the movie, not the late president as that would be creepy) at the Del Monte cinemas the following day. It was raining again, so the theaters were heavily populated. Afterwards, as Christopher's parents stayed home that evening, and Carole had already left for her home in Twain Harte earlier in the day, T&C brought dinner which Christopher cooked at our house -- lobster ravioli with brown butter and parsley. Billy and I had picked up a loaf of sourdough bread, and, as usual, good wine was flowing (and a bit of vodka at the start). The following day, we went to The Bench at The Lodge at Pebble Beach for lunch before Todd, Christopher, and I repaired to the Spa at Pebble Beach for massages.

And now we are approaching the end of the year, New Year's Eve, and the following day departure of Todd and Christopher. What a really great time we have had here both hanging about in the two rental homes, and going out to some really fun and fine restaurants. I am so grateful that the four of us, like many of our friends, are of the same mind about memory-making. There cannot be anything more important to the feeding of our souls than to spend time creating memories with friends who have become our family.

John and Sandra will not be able to visit us on this trip, as Sandra is undergoing  a difficult course of treatment during this time. She is the first person in my mind when I attend Mass here. And, I am sure, in Billy's mind as well. But my list is long, with myself at the bottom asking on my own behalf for understanding, comprehension, and peace. I don't want for much, but can always use a little more of those things with regard to our planet, mankind, and my own complicated soul.

Lastly, and luckily, I have my favorite girls returning to Carmel later in January. This year they are flying up, which I applaud. Why waste time on the road when you can fly in the night before, even if late the night before? It's the 21st century, after all! After they leave, Twain Harte Carole will be returning for a few nights so that we can check out the Monterey salsa club scene. I was hoping my salsa friend, Carol(without an e) could also come, but she has a pesky court date to settle things with her soon-to-be-ex. If not, I bet she would come in a shot. She's another one of us memory-makers.

I know how fortunate we are to have the friends we have, and to spend time with a few of them here. I know how lucky I am that when I am out of town, my salsera friend, Carol, texts a photo of herself and three other salseros to let me know I'm not forgotten. I am so grateful that Lydia and I text and talk regularly, even though both of our present days are full. And I am thankful that I am here, in this beautiful place, staying in this wonderful house. I am writing this in the great room by a roaring fire, while Billy watches Young Frankenstein for the bizillionth time. And so, I wish you all health, happiness, safety, and peace in the new year. I wish you lots of opportunities to make memories with the friends and family you love. And don't forget the best memory-maker of all--don't forget to dance, and to party like it's 1999! Happy New Year, and thank you all for reading my blog! 

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!

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!

On The Road Again

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

This will be our seventh January spent at the same rental house in Carmel. And, the answer to the question: do I know how lucky I am? is yes, I do. Although sometimes, even in the midst of your luck, you have to pay for your pretties.

Billy and I left our home in the northern end of Los Angeles at 3:45 on Sunday, January 2nd, en route to spend dinner and the night with our friends who live in Santa Barbara. Now, we live close enough to Santa Barbara that we have often spent a Sunday gardening, then showered, dressed, and climbed into the car to drive to Santa Barbara for dinner. After a day of digging around in the dirt, Brophy Brothers used to be our go-to spot until we had a couple of off-experiences there. Anyway, with all of that aside, we were counting on a seventy to ninety minute drive to our friends' home. Our travel time was generously estimated, or so we thought. It was, after all, the Sunday after a long New Year's weekend which included both the Rose Parade and Bowl game both held in the greater Los Angeles basin. So, in light of that, we conservatively tacked on about twenty minutes to our usual ETA.

Twenty minutes? LOL! Again, we left home at 3:45 with an expected arrival of 5:00-ish. Instead, we arrived at 8:15 pm after four and one-half hours traveling the seventy miles north on Highway 101. Now, I need to underscore that we did not take this experience personally. My friend and pilates trainer, Cathy, was stuck in New York for almost a week just after Christmas. And we heard a horror story or two about people basically camping at Heathrow in a similar nightmare. So, with all of that, as well as our ultimate destination in mind, we sucked it up and tried to make the best of our ten-mph commute at the commencement of our month away from home. We listened to a 2-CD set called Ultimate Broadway. It began with Oklahoma. By the time we made it all the way to Rent, I would have paid rent on a restroom for just a few moments' use. All along the highway, men had no such issue as they pulled over to use the side of the road. After the show tunes, we went to salsa music on my iPod, and finally ended up listening to The Rolling Stones, wishing we had some of Keith Richards' substances to abuse.

But it did will out, and we made it to Santa Barbara, to our friends' lovely home. While we were stuck on the road and after we let them know of our situation, Gwen phoned us frequently to check on our progress. She was making a risotto, so there was no problem holding dinner -- it would be made after we arrived. Henry told us that the wine was set out waiting for us, and we confessed that vodka would be our beverage of choice after this ordeal. Eventually, we arrived. Bathroom: done. Vodka: check. A good dinner, and our January retreat had begun.

We left Santa Barbara the next morning, and arrived in Carmel late Monday afternoon after the rain had swept south through central and southern California. We caught the sunset at Carmel beach. We celebrated our first night, as we always have, at Rio Grill. We are now unpacked, and our larder is stocked. And, we are in Carmel, which in many ways feels like we are home. I never anticipate this feeling when we are in the throes of removing holiday decorations, and packing up what always feels like much too much, before making this trip. In recent years, I find myself increasingly burned-out during that transition, and I often feel that I am sorry we have made these plans. But we push through the pre-trip travails, then travel up the 101 which approximates what was once, in the old mission days, called the Camino Real. We cut in at Salinas towards the Monterey area, and as we approach Highway 1, I finally see a stand of cypress trees. Not all, but a lot of my accumulated stress diminishes in one heavy exhale. Le sigh . . .

And so, from my kitchen table/desk in the little house that we rent here, and at the end of our first full day in Carmel-by-the-Sea, I start my year, by wishing you a happy new year. May it be a year without gridlock. A year without grief. A year to remember for all the beauty and cypress trees it may, perchance, bring to us. Welcome to 2011, and, thank you for reading my blog.

Albert Finney Slept in My Bed

Los Angeles, California

Caught your attention, now didn't I? Well, while the afterglow of Kona is still somewhat with me, I thought I might relate one more Kona Village story. And I will start by telling you five things about me that are extraordinary. Now, don't go away. I don't actually mean things that are inherently about me. Rather, this is more about things that have happened to me, mostly through the luck of being in the right place at the right time. And they are (and I am totally excited to introduce the bullet format into my blog):

• Saw The Beatles in concert

• Have seen three no-hitters pitched at Dodger Stadium (Bo Belinsky, Fernando Valenzuela and Kevin Gross). Belinsky, by the way was pitching for the Angels who utilized Dodger Stadium during the first few years of the franchise

• Have experienced the Northern Lights in Washington State. Seriously. No drugs involved in this 

You see, it's not like I'm extraordinary (on the contrary). But when you think about events which have occurred in your life, I believe that we can all come up with a short list of rather extraordinary happenings. Now, added to this list are a couple of things that seem to be about luck, karma, or what have you. And they are:

• I ALWAYS find excellent parking. I call it "TV Parking" because it is like on that old TV show, The Streets of San Francisco. Drivers on that show were always able to pull up into a parking place right in front of the Buena Vista (cafe in San Francisco famous for Irish Coffee and immortalized, so to speak, in the opening scene of the film When a Man Loves a Woman). Anyway, parking thusly in the heart of Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco is, in a word, impossible. But I do have that kind of luck when it comes to parking. I'm famous for it.

• I have a finely-tuned radar for spotting celebrities. The list is long, but to name a few: Barbra Streisand (at a nursery in Calabasas, California), Steve Martin (California Pizza Kitchen), Clint Eastwood (Piatti restaurant in Carmel), Doris Day (Rio Grill which is also in Carmel), Julie Andrews & Blake Edwards (Michael's restaurant in Santa Monica, California), Billy Wilder (also at Michael's on same evening as Julie and Blake -- she went over to talk to Billy at his table), Cyd Charisse (at a workout studio in Encino, California), and both Jake (Hungry Cat, Hollywood) and Maggie (Le Pain Quotidien in Bev Hills) Gyllenhaal, just to name-drop a couple for the younger gen.

OK, I am not unaware that the celebrity-spotting game kinda flies in the face of what I wrote about a few posts back, dissing our celebrity-du-jour culture. But, I grew up in Los Angeles. Celebrity-spotting has always been a participation sport here. And that goes back way before paparazzi and Paris Hilton (I can't believe I've now written that name in a blog post. Circling the drain). And anyway, I think we should embrace our contradictions, don't you?


So, with all of the above in mind, here is the short list of celebrities that I would love (or would have loved, in the case of those who are DYK -- Dead, You Know) to have spotted: Paul Newman; Robert Redford; Daniel-Day Lewis; Colin Firth (be still my heart); Diane Keaton (mostly because Billy saw her at a McDonald's in Santa Monica, which makes him one up on me). And if the list were longer it would certainly include Albert Finney.


I was pretty young when my sister was studying English Literature in college. Still, she took me to a revival movie theater to see the Tony Richardson film Tom Jones. I loved it. And the actor who played Tom Jones was amazing. His name is Albert Finney, and after viewing the film I had a huge crush on him. When I was a bit older, I saw a movie that changed how I conceptualized marriage (for better and worse). It was Two For The Road, with Albert Finney and Audrey Hepburn. It was at the beginning of a love affair with the later Stanley Donen films -- my favorite being Once More With Feeling, which is hard to come by but you can occasionally catch it on TCM. It stars Yul Brynner and Kay Kendell (FABULOUS). But I digress. This post is about Albert Finney.

I heard somewhere along the line that he had spent time at The Kona Village, which isn't surprising. Through the years a ton of celebrities have stayed there. Some have come regularly, and some we have seen while we are there. But I'm not going to divulge that information because it flies in the face of what is special about the Village. However, I do need to write about Albert Finney's stay there. From what I heard, the staff liked him a lot. He lived large, enjoying the food and good wines at meals. He was kind to the employees, and I suspect a lot of them may not have known who he was. We heard from guests whose stays had overlapped with his, that he was a bit of a character. But it wasn't until a couple years after hearing these stories that someone mentioned which hale was his during his stay (for refresher on what a hale is, see post entitled Kona Hanu. Oh, never mind, a hale is like a cottage).  And, lo and behold, Albert's hale was OUR hale! The very same one we stay in every year when we go to the Village.


It was a long, long road from viewing Tom Jones when I was in junior high school, to learning that we had stayed in the same hale, showered in the same shower, and slept in the same bed, albeit at different times. See what can come to those who are not impatient for the arrival of serendipitous events in their lives? And, so it is that I can truthfully state that Albert Finney slept in my bed. Or I slept in his. Same difference. Now if I could just figure out where Colin Firth goes on vacation . . . And thanks again for reading my blog.