One Resolution, Anyway...

But I am, by God, shooting for a sugar-free January.

Last night in our staid N. Berkeley neighborhood, there was actually NOISE on New Year's Eve.  The House of Millennials next door (seven banding together to pay the $7000 monthly rent) had a big party, and I could hear them counting down the seconds until midnight, when they let off a bunch of fireworks.  Thumping rap music, shouting, and then, around 1 a.m., silence.  This morning: the massive the clatter of bottles being dumped in the recycle bin.

We were tucked into bed at midnight, Jerry snoring and me wondering if we were going to have to put in a bomb shelter under our driveway to cope with Trump.

Onward.

Clear, Warm, Beautiful

Sitting in the garden under the oaks

We had a good weekend, except for the fact that the Bay Area is swamped with people, and it took us nearly half an hour crawling along the freeway to get on the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge on Sunday.  I heard that the drive from Santa Cruz to San Jose, over the mountains, took an hour and a half on Memorial Day (usually 30 minutes).

But!   Mr. Adorable came for a visit.  I was prepared with a chocolate-frosted-doughnut-with-sprinkles, as specified. 
Then we went for a walk around the 'hood.

First, a stop to feed the chickens (25 cents a handful for whatever it is they eat, proceeds to charity):

A rush to the feeding funnel

Rope swing down the block.  Note the Warriors hat.

 A hike up to Indian Rock:

Clambering to the top (why use the steps?)

Summiting.  Albany Hill in the background, faint outline of Mt. Tamalpais in the far distance

* * * * *

On the domestic front:  This is what happens when the basket of paper recycling loses a handle as you're walking down the back stairs:

* * * * *

Below is a Memorial Day photo of my favorite park.  No driving, no parking, no crowds,  a table always available, and cleanish bathrooms: 

The Randal-Powell Oasis

To the next 10,000 people contemplating a move to San Francisco (that's how many are moving here annually):  Please stay home.  We are filled up here in the Bay Area, maxed and gridlocked.   Rents are high, house prices are astronomical, and tempers are frayed.

But a very nice weekend can still be had, if I'm honest about it.

Sincerely,

The Curmudgeonette

Greenbaggers, Not Having Children, and Those Jeans

On Saturday, I had a tea party for six friends who donate food to the Berkeley Food Pantry through the Berkeley Neighborhood Food Project.  I call them "the greenbaggers," because everybody gets a green shopping bag to fill every two months.  I collect the bags and take them to the Pantry.

Oh, we had fun!  Two cakes from Masse's Bakery (flourless chocolate cake and spice cheesecake, which was much lighter than it sounds) and a bunch of age 60+ women, all liberal, each with a gratifying sense of humor, and all of them generous. Some of them had never met, but no matter. The party lasted three hours.

Did I think to take a group picture?  Yes, but you can't see much.

The greenbaggers:  Ann, Anne, Suzanne, Valerie, Claudia, Karen.  Plus cakes.

The neighborhood food project now provides about half the food distributed by the Pantry. It's so satisfying to see the food I bought in from the group on a Saturday given out to clients on Monday, when I volunteer. Last month,  I sent out an alert to the group about the need for dry cereal for families, and they donated so much that our combined-weight total was the lowest it's ever been.  Cheerios aren't very heavy.

* * * * *

Yesterday I had one of those lightbulb moments when you wonder why in the hell it took you so long to figure something out.

I was lying on a massage table having my neck and shoulders kneaded.  The young woman with the magic fingers was talking to me about some issues in her life and mentioned that she and her husband have decided they won't have another child (they have a two-year old).  She said there are many reasons, some financial, and it just isn't going to happen, which makes her sad because she's 40, and this is it.

Grieving the loss of a child you might have had is something I can relate to.  I have no children, by choice (my temperament,  lack of patience, desire to focus on other things), but occasionally I feel sad about the loss.  For a while, maybe right up until yesterday, whenever I felt a twinge of sadness about it, I'd think I might have made the wrong choice.

But yesterday, listening to this young woman, I realized that you can feel sad about something and still know that your choice was the right one.  In my case, I've revisited that choice periodically when I'm around small children, and never have I come away thinking I would have been well-suited to being a mother.  Even the adorable girls next door (now 24 and 26), who so enriched my life, were never mine to be responsible for 24/7.  Their mother, Laura, did all the work.

The young woman and I commiserated.  I told her that for me, the hardest time was when I was 38-42, when I knew window of opportunity was closing.  It would get easier, I told her.   You can have a fine life without children or with only one.  Not that you sometimes won't feel sad about the loss of what might have been.  But it doesn't mean you should doubt your choice.

Driving home, I could breathe a lot more deeply, in part due to the massage, but also: Why had it taken so long to figure this out?  Maybe because I'd never talked to a younger woman in the throes of making that choice, and I'd never articulated what I already knew, on some level.

 * * * * *

The jeans I mentioned in  the last post are continuing to be terrific.  They have ample stretch and the added benefit that they don't crease! Yes!  No crease marks from sitting.  I may go back for more. Now, if I can just stay away from the leftover cake.

 Thank-you, Not Your Daughter's Jeans!

Mr. Adorable Takes on Kindergarten

Mr. Adorable headed off to kindergarten today!

Here's a sequence of classic photos posted by his mom Celia:

Walking to the building: Doesn't he look small?

Ready to go

A moment of doubt when Mom leaves

Mission accomplished!  He did very well.

Here's how I still think of him:

At 2 years old

Looking for Something to Want

So, with the construction dragging on, I've become a slobbette who unhooks her bra as soon as the workmen leave and settles in her chair to binge on "Income Property."  (Canadians!  They all say "hoose.")

I'm supposed to be getting a Christmas list together for my sister and Jerry, because we like sitting in the living room on Christmas Day opening a small pile of gifts and joking around.  But I've been useless coming up with anything, although I've looked:

I even went online to Nordstrom to see if there's yet another robe Jerry could get me to replace the ancient $20 robe from Target that can't be beat (he loves Nordstrom's 800-number ladies, very helpful, AND they gift wrap).  Plus magazines, newspapers, Amazon.  Here's what I found:

Scented is big:

 Especially this--scented sticks.  Very big.

Watches are big:

Dopey sweaters are still  big. (Can you see Jerry in this?):

This caught me off-guard--am I the only one?

Also everywhere:  cashmere sweaters and scarves.  Everyone but me  likes these (scratchy!).

I found things I can't imagine wanting, like a sleeve for a succulent:

And a green tag that says you eat plants:

Why?

Sometimes the copy was the best part:

Infinitely on trend?   

Finally, I came up with a very short list which I'm going to give you right now, in case you are casting about for things you don't need but would like.  Otherwise, skip it.  I don't want to add to the pressure.

A quilt book
A travel umbrella
A Streetwise plastic map of Paris (swear by them)
Bobbi Brown eye cream (trying to offset encroaching hagdom)
A Mighty Bright book light
Also, more in the Jerry budget:  A Le Creuset grill pan, big enough for two, because we're too cheap (and daunted) to buy an actual grill.

In the meantime,  look who I got to sit on the toilet parked in my studio:

Yes, Mr. Adorable visited last weekend and was open to being bribed into posing for a picture.  (He chose a Tootsie Roll Pop over a See's sucker--no accounting for tastes.)

Taking Leah to Lunch

Yesterday, I took Leah to lunch, because she was leaving this morning for New York, where she lives now (boohoo), and we hadn't had a chance to talk.

Going somewhere with her when she's home is pretty easy, because she's right next door, and she's game for anything.


Me on Saturday:  Want to come over and get dead drunk?

Leah:  Sure!  Oh, wait, I can't.  Someone's coming over.

(Too bad, but really, I'm too old to get dead drunk.  Can't even remember what it feels like.)

Me yesterday after a harried morning:  How about lunch?

Leah: Yes!

Me, later:  Can it be late?

Leah: Sure!

Me, even later:  I got a reservation at Chez Panisse.

Leah:  Yay!  (Of course, who would say "no"?)


So we went.  We didn't arrive until 2:30, and it was quiet and spacious, and the food was wonderful.

Here she is at the Upstairs Cafe--the incomparable Leah B. at 23:

 Isn't she adorable?  As she was at seven...

...and nine:

I looked at my watch this morning when her plane was supposed to leave from San Francisco and felt sad, sad, sad that she was leaving, bu that's what she's gotta do.  Hoping she'll be back at the end of the year.

Arranging Wedding Flowers

Yesterday some readers asked if I missed my friend and next door neighbor Laura's wedding on Sunday.

Yes, I did.   I felt very sick when I woke up Sunday morning.  My voice was a croak, and nobody would have wanted me there.  So I missed it, although I was lying on the bed with a window open when the ceremony started, and I propped myself up on one elbow and could see down into Laura's courtyard windows when her two daughters walked her to the living room. I heard bits of the ceremony, including a lot of laughter.

The day before, her daughters, Leah and Annika, arranged the wedding flowers in our kitchen, so I  got to see that, too.

They showed up at 8:20 on Saturday morning with three big boxes of flowers that they got up at the crack of dawn to buy at the Oakland Flower Mart, $400 worth:

There were a lot more flowers than this looks like:  spider mums, hydrangeas, and a whole lot else.  Annika was the project leader, and Leah and her friend Corinne (who now works at PBS headquarters in Washington, DC, and writes for the "The News Hour," sees Gwen Ifill!) were production assistants.

Here they are in action:

 Corinne (foreground) and Leah stripping leaves off stems

Annika putting the finishing touches on the first bouquet

Most of the flowers were white

 Line-up of finished bouquets

Small bouquets for centerpieces

Annika at work on the last two arrangements

Putting on the finishing touches

All this took nearly five hours.  Then they were off for manicures.  Later, they returned to carry the flowers downstairs to the cool of our basement  and clean up the kitchen.

All very fun.  I did come into the kitchen at one point and tell them that if they ever found a house they liked that had laminate kitchen countertops, THEY SHOULD BUY IT ANYWAY.

Everything's Kind of a Mess, Etc.

October, already!  Unbelievable.

The bathroom remodel project is proceeding and has pretty much claimed the house and about 75% of my sanity and focus.  Here's what it looks like now:

A tidy shell

In the foreground, below, the tile possibilities:

 

From front to back:  floor, shower (subway tile; same color as vanity will be painted);  counter samples on top of that; back splash samples leaning against the tub

I'm going to ask, even if my sister is cringing because she doesn't want me to get talked out of our (tentative) choice.  Which do you like best?

Here's Sample A, warm and rustic:

Sample B:  Cool squares

Sample C:  Cool  and sophisticated(?) rectangles

In the course of demolishing the bathroom, the contractor came across this:

Frolicking dogs, anyone?

He thinks it dates from the 1930's and the first family who owned this house.  The second family, who sold the house to us, put up bordello-red flocked wallpaper in this bathroom, which we got rid of ASAP. We put up frolicking fish:

Next:  no wallpaper at all.

* * * * *

If all that isn't enough chaos and decision-making, this morning I did this:

My friend and next door neighbor, Laura, is getting married in a couple of weeks, and after hearing from her daughter Leah about the glammy outfit she bought in NYC to wear to this event, I thought maybe I could see if I could figure out something a little more daring that what I was planning to wear.  Also, my sister and I watched part of the documentary on fashion photographer Bill Cunningham yesterday while we recovered from tile shopping, and Bill got me behind the concept of stylish vintage.

So, on the bed,  are samples of clothes that span decades: left to right. a pleated red silk skirt I wore to a wedding in 1985-the waist wouldn't zip by at least two inches, very demoralizing.  In the center in a plastic bag, a dress I wore to a wedding. in 2011.  To the right of that,  a dress bought for a wedding in 2012 and too warm for this one.  On the far right, the dress I wore to my sister's wedding in 1982 (not a prayer).

See the open jewelry box on the upper left?  Fiddling around that stuff resulted in this:

I'm stuck! We can't get the clasp open.  I'm going to have to run down to the jewelers to see if they can liberate me. I'm definitely not wearing these to the wedding, unless the jeweler can't help me out.

* * * * *

On to more chaos. Here's my studio at the moment:

Even though I swore I'd never do another quilt with triangles, this is what I'm playing around with:

I have no idea what I'm doing, although I did find myself trying this:

Who knows.

* * * * *

On other fronts:  The Food Pantry has had a change in leadership--a new manager and a new director.  Lots of changes, including my role checking in clients in the front room.  Unsettling to all of us long-time volunteers, but I'm talking myself out of being an Old Fartette.  I'm trying to embrace the changes, or at least do my best at observing and cooperating.

Before the Pantry opened on Monday, I made numerous trips to the green bin with spoiled vegetables, each time walking past waiting clients.  On my fourth trip, a large African American man who was holding court, called out, "That white lady is working hard!"


"Yes, I am!" I said.  Didn't mention the effort of dealing with change.  

* * * * *

On a more serious note:  Mr. Adorable has been hospitalized!  Some of you may have seen this on Facebook.

He has asthma and developed pneumonia, which resulted in wheezing and shortness of breath that even a nebulizer couldn't reverse.  The doctor ordered him to the ER, and he's spent the past three days in a "palatial room," (per his Auntie Claudia), at the Monterey Community Hospital in Pacific Grove.  He's better and more than a little restless:

 Killing time in the hospital gift shop until he can be sprung.  Cute even in hospital wear.