The Girls Are Back In Town

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

Sung to the tune of Thin Lizzie's The Boys Are Back In Town:

Guess who just got back today?
My bff fristers who can't stay away
Haven't talked in about half a day
Run out of words? We will just have to see
We know Lydia's here to shop
She does it so much we can't get her to stop
From the bottom of Ocean Avenue all the way to the top
Run out of stores? We'll have to see . . .

The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town
The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town
The girls are back in town, the girls are back in town
The girls are back in town (are you kidding me, this 
is the chorus? My apologies to songwriters Ynott &
Parris, but. Really?) The girls are back in town.

The girls, Debra and Lydia who are better known here as DG and LOL (see a whole bunch of previous posts including The Monogram, available here until 8:00 pm today EST), were back in town. They left Monday afternoon to drive back to their respective homes in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Their January visit to Carmel has become a ritual, and luckily they were able to come for a three-nighter on this September trip.

The three of us have been friends for a long time, since we picked spots near and/or next to each other in an aerobic dancing class. To say that we've seen each other through a lot is an understatement. And there was a space in time when we almost lost contact with Lydia. But somehow we maintained a tenuous thread through holiday and birthday cards, a call now and then. Internet made it easier.

The great thing about our friendship is that it is a successful triad. My experience with triangles (and let's not even touch upon that disasterous episode with geometry in high school, lest I confess that my best experience with angles, at that time, was playing pool) hasn't been all that stellar. But with us it works. While two of us might share something that the third doesn't, there is always another thing that shifts the conversational balance around: Debra and I are both readers; Lydia & I are both Dodgers fans; Debra and Lydia are both moms; Debra and I see more films that Lydia; Lydia and I shop more than Deb; Debra and Lydia both work in education, Lydia and I have been known to enjoy a cocktail or wine; Debra and Lydia both have kids who went to Cal; Lydia and I have identical red purses; Deb & I just purchased matching blue skirts . . . oh you get the picture . . .

There are a few rituals that we do on each trip: I cook their first-night-in-Carmel dinner; the next day we walk up and down Ocean Avenue popping into shops; on Sunday, Lydia accompanies me to Mass at Carmel Mission Basilica, after which the three of us spend the afternoon at Pebble Beach Spa getting the knots and kinks of life smoothed out of us. We also make a pilgrimage to Jan de Luz for gifts and, this time, another apron for Lydia. And we often hit a couple of other shops on our way, including a we're-closing-in-fifteen-minutes spree at Anthropology, which turned into a feeding frenzy.

We spend most evenings curled up in our same spots (much as in the old aerobic dancing days, we are creatures of habit) on the sectional sofa in front of the fireplace talking and watching Lydia drift off mid-sentence when it quickly becomes late in the evening. After she goes to bed, Deb and I natter on into the early hours. This gives us the two of us a chance to catch up; they had that opportunity during their six hour drive up (until that pesky speeding ticket, Billy used to make it in five); Lyd and I have that during our almost-daily, hour-long, afternoon drive time conversations.

I think my favorite time during their visit is the mornings. I have always felt this when I am a house guest or have house guests in my home or vacation home. I love the luxury of lounging; everyone awakening at their own pace; wandering out in their pajamas or whatever; basking in their own varying degrees of vacation bliss or vacation exhaustion. Each grabs a cup of coffee or brews a cup of tea and finds a spot to settle in for conversation and laughter. It's so companionable to relax in the morning in this manner with good friends. And if you don't get this, please watch The Big Chill.

Our Las Chicas weekend always goes by way too fast. I try not to see the movie visual of the calendar pages flying off each day, but I am aware that the time is fleeting. And then the day of reckoning comes and I hear the wheels of suitcases bumping down the hall towards the front door. Saying goodbye is hard. We all wave until we can't see each other anymore. And the first evening is too quiet and still. But I know that they will be back in January; hopefully for a bit longer.

And Lydia will soon be leaving her job and taking an early retirement. I am both happy for her and excited about this prospect. I look forward to seeing what this next part of her life will be about; what activities she will embrace. She is the hub of an extended and growing multicultural family, with a son in his last year of law school. He has a lovely girlfriend who is soon to commence dental school. LOL's life will be full, but I hope neither of these two fristers of mine will ever have a life too full to spend this time with me in Carmel. I'm campaigning for a four-nighter frister weekend during the time I am here in January. There is more to do here: more conversations and fun to have; more restaurants to try; more stores to shop. And, of course, for LOL's sake, there will always be more aprons to acquire. I thank you for reading my blog, and thanks for the memories, fristers!

Losing My Religion

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

Billy and I left Carmel last weekend and drove to San Francisco to see a Dodgers/Giants game at AT&T Park. We had talked about doing this for awhile, and I kept eyeing the tickets on the Giants' website. Giants were not doing well when I first started looking. Then they started winning, and the tickets disappeared. Seriously, standing room only at a stadium! Although, having now been to that stadium, I realize there are a lot of pretty cool places to stand -- like by the giant Coca Cola bottle, or over by the cable car. Or anywhere along the terrace that runs above the part of the bay, now known as McCovey Cove, where there are fanatics in kayaks and boats hoping to fish for a home run ball. And, by the way, I don't hesitate to admit that this is a beautiful stadium. But that doesn't mean I'm willing to stand around in it for nine innings. So, I bit the bullet and purchased exorbitantly expensive tickets on StubHub -- this after my friend and dentist (yes, my dentist is my friend) said, oh, just do it! Somehow that admonishment, as well as increasingly thinking that we can't take it with us, enabled me to purchase two pretty darn good tickets on the first baseline. They were on an aisle, and under the overhang. It was a day game.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Billy and I left Carmel on Friday morning, and drove up on the coast road to Half Moon Bay. It was a blindingly stunning, bright and sunny day. We had lunch at Half Moon Bay Brewing Company -- splitting a red snapper sandwich and each enjoying a pint of ale: Billy's pale; mine amber. We checked into Hotel Vitale at the Embarcadero around 3:00, dropping off our one duffle in the room, and crossing over to The Ferry Building, which was almost directly across the street.

The Ferry Building is where the commuter Sausalito and Vallejo ferries dock. It's also a collection of restaurants and specialty food emporiums. After buying one(1) kitchen towel, and splitting a coffee gelato, we arrived back at the hotel and were plunged into one of the most outrageous bar scenes I have ever encountered. Evidently, all those in their thirties, mas o menos, who work in the financial district collect on Fridays at the indoor/outdoor bar at our hotel. There were packs of youngish men in suits with loosened or pocketed ties, and women wearing grey or navy dresses or skirts-with-jackets and achingly high heels. Luckily, we nabbed a table, ordered martinis and enjoyed some very good tapas, including the Stone Fruit Bruschetta. It wasn't Kaya Toast (see: The Acid Test, available here while supplies last) caliber, but it still achieved light-up-your-eyes tastiness.

Back in our room, we discovered, with NO END of chagrin that the Dodgers/Giants game was blacked out. So we set out in a panic to find a local bar with a TV feed. Some kind soul at Perry's (which would have been the best choice for viewing, but they were closed for a private party) sent us down the road to Palomino, where, in the company of Giants' fans, we watched the Dodgers lose. Again, they were all Giants fans --- all except us. We maintained fan allegiance anonymity, spending a lot of time whispering (me) and muttering (Billy).

The following day, we checked out of our hotel, leaving our duffle and car in their care, and walked along the waterfront to the stadium. It was another crystal clear sparkling day with temps around 65. Stadium was amazing -- right on the water. We ended up in a little knot of Dodgers' fans, where we could see Vin Scully in one of the press booths. The Dodgers fans in front of us, two couples, were c-r-a-z-y. They snuck in a pint of Malibu Rum which the two women were liberally using to spike their Coke. The guys were more mellow and drinking beer. At one point, one of the women (we'd all made friends, Dodgers fans that we are) turned around to me and asked: Are we going to have Victorino for more than this year? I responded that I believed he would be a free agent after this season. Good, she cried, Because I HATE his ass! Harsh (and a bit rum-fueled), but they were actually a lot of fun. They would shout Let's Go Dodgers, while all the Giants fans nearby would wait until the last word then yell GIANTS in a relatively good-natured manner. Meanwhile we sipped Sierra Nevada and cheered. And the Dodgers won. We drove back to Carmel that evening, stopping for dinner on the way at a Mexican restaurant in Moss Landing.

The next morning, I got up, and went to Mass at the Mission. Among my serious prayers for my mom, Billy, Sandra, and our friend, Keith, who just lost his father, was one for the Dodgers. More of a brief fleeting wish that our boys in blue would continue to win in a streak; something we haven't seen for awhile. This went unanswered, as they have lost more games and are now dangerously close to being out of contention in even the wild card race. I'm beginning to feel much like my friend Susan who has been saying for decades: I'll give them one more season, but if they break my heart again . . .

Meanwhile, I decided to redirect my energy and throw some more money at this. I paid twenty-five bucks to MLB.TV so that I could watch home and away Dodgers games (which are not televised here in Carmel) on my MacBook, with Vin Scully  announcing all of the games where he is available. If my hopes and dreams for a wild card triumph disapparates in a continuing downward spiral created by their serious lack of offense, they will owe me twenty-five bucks! Although, seriously, I'm still grateful for their winning game in San Francisco, even if our twenty-four hours there cost us about a grand. Seriously. It was well worth it, as it was a Visa experience: A Dodger win in San Francisco? Priceless. Whatever baseball colors you are flying, I thank you for reading my blog. But, Go Dodgers!