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 . . .)?!
January 5, 2012
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!
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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.