A Stroke of Bad Luck, From Dependence to Independence : A story I wrote in 1998

I saw something tonight that made me cry while I was waiting at a stop light. A man started across the wide street, slowly, with a cane in his right hand, his left hand curled up in front of him. He did the slow step-together walk of the wedding march, that I've become used to.  It's not that I've been in so many weddings, but because Walt walks that way, since his stroke in 1987.

Walt in 1988

I wondered about the man who was slowly crossing the street.  "What kind of life did you have before? ...before life as you knew it was changed in the twinkling of an eye? Your blood flowed through your brain and got stuck there for awhile, long enough to damage crucial parts. What was your life like back then? Did you have big plans? Was it your birthday? Do your children recall what you used to be like? Maybe not. Some of them may have been too small to remember the warm hugs and the rides on your shoulders."

As I sat there in my car, I prayed that the man would make it all the way across the street before the light changed. I imagined the tension of the people in the other cars as they thought about the places they had to be 5 minutes ago. I thought that the folks in this man's family and those who know Walt, should acknowledge the people that these men were before, but should also appreciate how courageous any disabled person has to be to go out into the world on their own. We all must remember how they used to be and then appreciate how difficult it is for people with strokes and for other disabled and even blind folks to go out, and on with a new life....a completely changed life with fewer skills to draw upon.

This is not something you would wish on anyone, and you hope doesn't happen to you or anyone you care about. Just imagine someone you love suddenly not being able to sit up, or walk or speak with you in a simple conversation. It's not a dream. It's really happening and it won't go away. "What will I do?",  you think. But what will THEY do?......these people that are struck down? They're given a lot of support through physical, occupational, and speech therapy, but they have to have a strong spirit to pull themselves out of an hospital bed and into their new lives.

The attention they're given is like water on a plant. Sometimes Walt would brighten up all through his physical therapy sessions, and swear enthusiastically to the therapists that he would do all the exercises, only to come back the next time to charm her once again with his crooked smile, without having practiced one exercise.
As these people are given the skills they need to get on with their new lives: how to sign their name, cook without  being burned,

Making his own lunch.

and how to make a phone call, they bravely go out into the world using their canes, wheelchairs or electric Lark carts, to try to take care of themselves. Walt, for one, hasn't let the stroke keep him at home. Even when family members tried to protect him, and keep him there, he found ways to escape from his home in Richmond, CA, take BART to San Francisco riding his Lark cart, and visit some of his old haunts. He used to work at the Hilton as a banquet manager, and fight for the union rights of Local 2. He'd have lunch, and then come home a little too late to keep the family from worrying.

Soon it was realized that he still had his sense of direction, and even though he had trouble communicating with speech (aphasia), and was paralyzed on his right side, he could still have adventures and have his longed-for freedom. His daughter made him a little card that he hung around his neck with his ID, explaining about the stroke and his difficulty with speech. In order for his family to know where he had been that day, he collected souvenirs, like matches from restaurants, business cards, notes from people he met or sometimes he took a photo.

Perhaps since he has had more "time on his hands" (not really, if you count the extra time it takes just to get dressed), Walt notices things that are wrong about the world of the disabled. He likes to feel he can do something about them. Conditions that effect disabled people are at the top of his list. People in wheelchairs (including Walt), have gotten off at BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station where it's necessary to go to a different level to transfer to another train, only to find out that the elevator has been out of order. Very frustrating! "ADA!", he shouts, pointing his left index finger to the sky. (FYI: ADA is the Americans with Disabilities Act, which was passed in 1990).

On the night that I write this, he tells me through a series of charades, words, and faces, that handicapped people who have had trouble with the elevators on BART have a class action suit going on. "Class Action!", he shouts. He and some of his friends documented all the times they were left stranded without an elevator, leading to the suit being won. The result of the suit was that everyone who sent in a form stating that they had had a problem with this, could get a free BART pass. Also, if you are standing in a BART station you'll most likely hear an announcement about which elevators are working, or which ones are out of service. There is also a number you can dial to make sure the elevator is running at a station you are about to go to.

Walt is always proud to think he had something to do with that. He likes to think he's a helper. Sometimes he's hard to understand, and he can be very exasperating, but he really would like to make a difference. This new person he has become is one of those people riding around on a Lark cart with a red flag sticking up for safety. He could also be the person walking slowly in front of your car as your stop light turns green. Give him the time he needs and smile at him. Give him a little wave. He could be YOUR husband or father. He could be YOU. Think about it. He's on a mission ....to live his brave new life.

Walter Romer is living now (in 2015), at the California Veteran's Home, in Yountville, CA.  He still makes regular trips in his electric wheelchair by bus, BART and even the train. The folks at the Veteran's Home have gotten used to his comings and goings. He still has a good sense of direction.

Giovanni's Mama

Back in 1974, I worked as a hostess at Giovanni's Restaurant, in Berkeley. I was hired, as most employees were, because I was related to someone. My husband had worked there as a waiter in times past, and as was the tradition, I became part of the restaurant family seemingly by osmosis.

The family atmosphere of this Italian restaurant was heightened by the frequent visits of Mama, Giovanni's mother, to share cakes and cookies she had baked herself  with the customers. Her portrait hung over the mantle piece of the fireplace. There she sat, a proud Italian mama in her black dress with a white lace collar and her hands folded on her lap, looking out over the customers as they ate some of the recipes that she had invented. (Our favorite is Chicken Marsala).

Last Saturday, Doug and I decided to have a "date night", including dinner and drinks at our beloved Giovanni's. As we approached the building, we saw yellow caution tape over the windows, and the bar gate was closed over the front door. As we strained to look inside, we could smell charred wood and saw that the fireplace had been torn apart. There was a note on the door that a fire had occurred on April 22 at 6 AM, and that no one had been hurt. I was heartsick, as I stood at the door with an old story in my hand that I had written for a newspaper about the owner John's "Mama" way back in 1980, right after she had passed away. I had wanted to give it to Giovanni, his wife Anna, and daughters Anastasia and Sarah, since it is close to Mother's Day. I couldn't, so I'll copy it out here instead.
                ________________________________________________________________

From the Archives.     Written in 1980, by Reilly Romer (AKA Me, Pat Reilly Harbo)

                                                                 MAMA

Mothers are wonderful people. They nurse us and care for us and cherish us, spoil us and discipline us, protect us and love us. Many young people think that once they've left the nest and are flying on their own, all that nurturing and worrying ceases.

But they've never been mothers before. I haven't been a mom for very long myself, but I know it's a very special thing to be one. It's even more special to be called "Mama" not only by your children, but by everyone who comes in contact with you.

Mama Savaria (Sarah) Schipani was that type of person. She died in San Pablo, CA, on December 30th at the age of 75. When she was a child in Calabria, Southern Italy, little did she know that she and her cooking would be the wellspring of at least five fine restaurants.

Cooking was to become Savaria's life. While growing up, pasta and bread making were everyday events and she became adept at the recipes that were indigenous to that region of Italy. Eventually, the couple left Italy for West Virginia, where Bill worked in the coal mines. They lived with Bill's cousins, so Savaria helped with the household chores and the cooking, picking up additional recipes from her new-found family. The region that these immigrants came from was richer than Savaria's, so they had more meat in their concoctions and they used slightly different spices. With these recipes added to her repertoire, she was becoming quite creative in the kitchen.

While living in West Virginia, Savaria earned the title of "Mama" by giving birth to four children: John, Frank, Rosie, and Katherine.

Next, the promise of big money in the steel mills brought on a move to Indiana. Like most immigrants, Bill worked hard and saved his earnings. He subsequently opened a bar in Gary, IN, called Bill's place. It was only supposed to be a bar, but there was a kitchen, so Mama was naturally in it, cooking. Customers got a whiff of the delicious aromas and asked if they could buy some of whatever she was making. Mama loved to see people enjoying her good cooking, so it didn't take long for Bill's Place to develop into both a bar and a restaurant.

During the years in Gary, tragedy struck, and daughter Rosie drowned at the age of eleven, but Mama's family continued to grow. Bill and Savaria had three more children, Fran, Bill Jr., and Jim.

In 1962, California lured eldest son John away from home to open his own restaurant in Berkeley, called "Mr. Pizza". Gradually, his brothers and sister Fran followed and also fell in love with California. Mama and Papa wanted to be close to most of their family, so they too, relocated in the Bay Area.




Forever the cook, Mama enlarged John's pizza and salad only menu, by cooking her spaghetti and meatballs. The customers loved the addition, and that encouraged Mama to come in a couple of days a week to concoct her recipe for lasagne.

The restaurant's name was changed to Giovanni's, (John's), and in 1967 business was so good, a move was made to a couple of blocks down Shattuck Avenue to a larger building. Caffe Giovanni continues to be a popular place to dine mainly because its fare is based on Mama's recipes, like her Veal Scallopini and her stuffed Eggplant Parmesean.

Mama's special touches always made dining out a pure delight. She made the customers feel at home by passing among them with a tray of cookies. Many regulars began calling her Mama and asking for her when they came in to eat. Mama never spoke much English, but she managed to communicate her appreciation to the people who enjoyed seeing her.



Employees grew to expect a huge cake baked expecially for them each week. Daughter Fran read the recipes to her in Italian, but Mama couldn't let a chance go by to change a recipe and make it her own. She added an extra egg or two this time, maybe four next time, or perhaps some pudding (before it was even thought of by Betty Crocker). Mama would especially delight in watching the thinner employees devour her creations , commenting in her dear broken English and sign language something like, "You gotta eat! You too skinny! Mangia!"




At Mama's house one day, Franny told me, that the milkman finally confessed to her that every day after making his delivery and smelling the aroma of Mama's cooking, he had to run out to his truck and eat his sandwich because he became so hungry. Fran laughed and relayed this loudly into Mama's ear, for her hearing was impaired. Immediately a chair was pulled out for him, and he was told to "Come! Eat!" So began a weekly routine for that milkman....every Tuesday for over two years, Mama had a luncheon waiting for him.

At one point, he said his wife wasn't sure she believed his innocent story of eating at a nice Italian lady's house every week. When Mama heard this, she had him take his wife a picture of herself and said, "Tell her I old! No worry!" She also sent a jar of her special spaghetti sauce home with him. When that milkman left the company, his replacement was hoping he would get the same fringe benefits. In Mama's eyes he never qualified for a free lunch.....maybe a piece of cake.

Mama Savaria is what the restaurant business is all about. She loved to cook and she loved to watch people eat what she had cooked. She treated employees with respect and warmth. An example of her big-heartedness to everyone, she was instrumental in training her offspring to be generous. The sense of "family" seems to permeate anything Mama has had anything to do with. The Schipani's have acquired a reputation for hiring people who, if they aren't related to them or their present employees, they are old friends, or friends of friends. This provides the atmosphere of caring of which Mama was very proud.



Savaria was full of pride when it came to her family. She has a right to be. Sons Billy and Jimmy helped Johnny operate Caffe Giovanni's for years until they each decided to branch out on their own. Bill and his wife, Karen opened the popular Shattuck Avenue Spat's Restaurant. Fran Bisbiglia, Bill's sister, also helps to run the Berkeley restaurant, and Mama regularly came in to prepare several of her specialties and to ply the employees with cake.

John decided to enlarge upon what he did best, and opened Baci's, a seafood restaurant on Pier 39 in San Francisco, while brother Jim moved to Reno to open the elegant Washoe Zephyr Restaurant. Even daughter Katie, still in Hobart, Indiana, owns a restaurant called the Mortor Joynt.

There's only one son that isn't in the restaurant business. Actually, he used to have a restaurant, but he's found something more lucrative. Frank is a professional blackjack player.

It seems to me that Mama has left quite an inheritance. There's not only her legacy of love, but of recipes, aromas, and happy taste buds....of memories, values, and old ways......of family ties that are strong. What more could a Mama want?
                                                                         The End
             __________________________________________________________________
Post Script: This story was written 35 years ago. (hard for me to believe too!) The lives of the people in this great family have had many twists and turns, as all of ours have. I was just going to hand my typed copy to the family when we went to eat at Giovanni's, but since we saw that there had been a fire, decided to post these memories for all to see. Our prayers are with Johnny and Anna, Anastasia and Sarah, and all the crew at Giovanni's.



We hope that the damage wasn't so much that many folks' favorite restaurant won't reopen. There are still many taste buds waiting to be tantalized!       Pat Reilly Harbo

An Old Cat and Dog Story from 2001

In the last few years, my family's pet population has dwindled from two cats, one dove, one cockatiel, one cherry-headed conure, two parakeets, 19 bunnies (it's true that they are prolific), and 12 goldfish in the pond. The menagerie has declined, due to old age, bunny sales, birds flying the coop or being buried in the side yard, racoons, and no replacements. We are now down to two pets.

Alas, our cat, Tigger, a 14 year old orange striped tabby, has cancer. All of six months ago, he had a surgery which supposedly removed the whole tumor from his abdomen. Because of his age and our fondness of him, I figured the $180. for the surgery was affordable, but I knew I didn't want to invest in chemo. When the tumor returned, the vet said, "Just let him have anything he wants. If he starts to feel bad, let me know and you can 'bring him by'." On the way home, I stopped at the store and bought Tigger some special kitty treats.

That's how my morning ritual started. Tigger directs the scene as it opens from his post outside the kitchen window over the sink. It's 6:30 A.M., and my dog Tessa, and I come down stairs to the kitchen. The rather heavy pit bull/lab scrambles down ahead of me and anxiously waits for me to fill my whistling tea kettle with water for my cup of coffee. She finally makes eye contact with me, and then pushes her way past me down the laundry room stairs, wiggling her whole body impatiently till I get the back door open. She runs in place on the cement like a cartoon dog, before bounding out to pee under the plum tree. She is noisily greeted by the dog next door, but doesn't take time to respond. I close the door just enough that Tessa can push her way back in.

Tigger stands on his hind legs outside the window doing his morning stretch, reaching almost to the top of the second pane, showing me how bad his sore is on his belly. He scrapes his nails luxuriously down the upper window pane. I raise the window and he jumps to the counter and then the floor, where he stops to rub against my leg. Next, he saunters over and sits in front of the little bowl I've placed on the floor in the corner for his morning treat, instructing me to open the cupboard and get out his first course.....salmon-flavored kitty treats. He munches on them and makes a strange guttural sound, as if he's devouring a bird he has just killed.

In the meantime, Tessa has made her entrance through the back door and looks toward the cupboard for her "usual". I toss her one small bone-shaped biscuit, which she handily catches in her mouth and takes to chew on the living room rug. She comes back wagging, happy to find that I've hidden another bone on top of the recycling basket. I'm touched that she remembered from yesterday and the day before.

Tigger's not finished. He meows when I get my milk out of the fridge for my coffee, and sits by his bowl again. I act like I don't notice, and he rubs against my leg and meows a pitiful cry. I say, "Of course I'll give you some."..... but I think to myself that I never used to give him milk very often. The vet did say though, to "give him anything he wants". Now, for the first time in these last few months, this athletic, lanky cat is finally getting some meat on his bones, cancer and all. I wonder if he's noticing the pampering... that I'm honoring him and showing him my love in this little ritual of ours. Whatever he notices, he's got me trained pretty well.

Lucas with Tigger 2001

Koi in the Library

As I sat in a comfy chair in the Palm Springs Library, browsing through the book choices I had made, I spotted a little 4 year old girl running toward the Koi pond that is in the center of the building. She was calling out "The fish, Grandpa, the fish!" He told her to stay right there while he was close by. She installed herself, standing on tiptoes. I noticed her blue overalls, as she held on to the circular railing, to gaze at the fish.

She stared, delightedly as the fish gathered near her, and then she let go one hand from the rail to give them a shy wave and said "Hi", softly.
Grandpa came to say that it was time to go, and she reluctantly followed him. A couple of minutes later she galloped back to the railing to peak at the fish one more time, and standing once again on her toes, waved and said "Bye". Before leaving, she looked at all the Koi, who seemed entranced with her, jumped off to the floor and called out for all to hear,"I wanna be a fish too!"

A Different Kind of Christmas: 2014

Some of you may have read the story I wrote last year called, Getting Ready for Christmas: The Tree. The zeal and Christmas spirit shown in that tale have been harder to come by this year. After stating how much I've loved Christmas in the big old house we've lived in for 33 years, it looks as though this will be the last one here.

Wonderful things have happened to us in the last 12 months though. Happy decisions were made..... lifestyle changing ones. There was no plan to make the changes we did. One thing just led to another, each opportunity seemed right, if not daring, in some folks eyes.

Last January we fell in love with and bought a retro 1955 trailer in Palm Springs, that had been added on to each side with a long room with vaulted ceilings. We decided it looked more like a beach cottage in the desert, and have pushed that idea, adding on to the seashells that were already abundant in the yard. There is also a patio facing the big mountain, where I've installed my potter's wheel. All this for less than the price of a new car!

Many of the residents in this over 55 park are artistic, as evidenced by the decor and the different types of gardens, some lush and tropical, but mostly desert plants. We/ve even planted an orange tree and a lime tree. Tlie lime tree is the happiest, sporting some cute little blossoms. Every year there's an influx of Canadians, Washingtonians and New Yorkers.... the "snowbirds" are happy to thaw out in the warm pool. This park has also been discovered by gays, and they, along with the youngish seniors have fun together at the wine tastings, ice cream socials, and pool parties. We've decided that we'd like to spend our winters in Palm Springs, but not the summers, since the temps could rise to as high as 115 degrees! As I write this, though, in early January, the night temps have been about 34 degrees and 50 or 60 during the day. Next week, is predicted to be more to our liking, at a civilized 79.

Before we left there in April, I noticed that the dizzy spells that I had had since February were happening more often. I ended up in the ER, where it was discovered that my heart was "pausing", or as I say, "stopping" for 5-6 seconds every time I had one of those spells. When we got home to Richmond, a cryo (freezing) surgery was planned, but not right away.

Our 2004 Prius had a few dents in it, and the air conditioner died, so Doug said "Hey, let's just go check out the new Plug-in Priuses."  I was dumbfounded, but agreeable, and we ended up getting a Plug-in, and sold the 2004 to his daughter.

The new Prius, of course, had it's maiden journey two weeks later to camp at Donner Lake, where we slept in it like a tent, just as we did in our lovely 2004 Prius all over the country. It was near Lake Tahoe, my old stomping grounds. It was beautiful, and brought back a lot of memories for me. Next thing I know, we were driving on to South Lake Tahoe, where I had been a blackjack and roulette dealer in the early 70's. We contacted a real estate agent, and ended up buying a condo there, which is rent-able during the winter months when we'd rather be in Palm Springs, and helping to pay for itself.

After all that, I had my surgery in September. The cardiologist said she was "delighted" with the outcome, since, she said that she doesn't always have the instant gratification of seeing the heart beat regularly while doing the surgery. We were too. I kept feeling my pulse afterward, and my heart was beating like a champ. Thank you Lord!

About now, folks are thinking we should give retirement lessons! The final piece of the puzzle is that we realized that we should rent out our house in the East Bay Area that I have lived in for 33 years, and save the bottom two rooms and bath for us to stay in when we're home to visit with family. At first it was hard for me to take.... to MOVE...and clean out all the places I had stored and stuffed so much memorabilia! Then I had an "aha!" experience! Most people move more often than 33 years. Well, at first it seemed daunting, and I was kind of frozen when it came to letting go of Anything. From then on it became a "freeing" experience. (I just realized that I used the words "Frozen" and "Let It Go" in the same sentence.)

Back to Christmas.... I usually go shopping for the tree with someone, but Doug was in Home Depot, and I ventured out to see their trees in the parking lot. All the 7-8' Christmas trees were gone, and I had to resort to a 6-7' size. only a few were opened up, and it was cold out. I found one possibility, and then walked over to another section. When I spotted another family headed for my first tree. I was certainly at a disadvantage being by myself! I ran over and held on to my tree and looked at all sides, sort of claiming my territory. It was taller than me, (one of the criteria), and looked pretty good. Not perfect, but it would do. I could feel myself letting go of the perfection that I had always demanded.

My two kids couldn't make it from New York, a disappointment..... but all of Doug's kids and our 8 grandchildren helped bring the excitement of the season back to me. A couple of the grandkids helped put the ornaments on the tree, after I had painstakingly put on the lights. They were very good at hanging each one in it's appropriate place, the angels on top, the wise men and Jesus nearby, a section for birds, and for Santas, but as I looked for my first ornament, the little nutcracker, all we found was his head! So sad! It wasn't till the next day, that I found his body and carefully glued him back together.

We spent our Christmas Eve together, only on Dec. 20th, so everyone could come. We did the Danish dancing around the Christmas tree, opened stockings, exchanged gifts, and ate too much. It was beautiful! The next night, Doug and I invited some old friends (only 8 of us), to fondly remember past Christmases and to appreciate this last one here.

Having Christmas early was a boon for me, since I could take time to go through some things....setting some aside for a garage sale in the spring, making many trips to the recycling center and thrift shops to make donations, and giving things to friends. Thank God I have 3 places to furnish, so I can keep Some of the things that have memories, but are also useful.

One of the traditions has been to spend Christmas morning with one of my sisters and her family, so that brought back nice memories, and we got to see all of her growing family. Doug and I stayed later and sang songs with my sister on her ukelele, Doug on the piano and I on my guitar. There were lofty ideas of us starting a band....

What happens next Christmas, I can only estimate. Looking back at this last year I never would have believed all the unexpected changes in our lives. We'll just have to play it by ear. Celebrating Christmas in Palm Springs is a thought...... but that's a decision for another day.

Zion National Park: More of the Travels With Our Prius, the 13th day of our 2 week trip

For those of you who have been following my stories about my husband and I camping around the U.S. and sleeping in our 2004 Prius, I have a few more to tell you.....

We drove to Zion National Park, in Utah in early May, and stayed for 2 nights, once again sleeping in our car as a camper. The only place that was left to stay was in the group camp, called Watchman, below the peak of the same name, so we shared our campfire with others.

We are surprised that there are so many Europeans camping everywhere. That night, we had a UCSB chemical engineering graduate from Israel, doing a road trip across the US before going to work in Germany, and also another little family from Israel who have been grad students at Stanford. The woman said "It is so Israel", that they would meet someone else from Israel.

The only problem with this campground is the caterpillars. They must drop down from the cottonwood trees, since there are a lot of nest-like things in the trees. As I was reading in a camp chair in the sunshine, a furry creature came into my peripheral vision as it crawled over the top of my book on to the page. I scared Doug when I jumped up, dropping my book in the sandy soil. Then I found one on my pants leg  and then a couple on his shirt! They're so sneaky!!... and quiet! We saw four little cocoons lined up along the wood frame of the restroom with another caterpillar making plans to spin his own little "sleeping bag".

After dinner one night, our cell phone rang, with it's characteristic "Quack quack quack", startling us from our idyllic reverie in the woods back into reality. Tenants from a house we were renting out with utilities included had their power turned off! They were sitting in the dark with their new baby and found out the bill hadn't been paid. We could barely hear them over the bad connection, but the frustration was heard loud and clear. I was ashamed to think that I had organized so many other things for this trip, but this had slipped through the cracks. What else had I missed?
We told them we'd call them back and called PG&E, and promptly got put on hold, all the while watching the battery on our phone dwindling away. We turned on the car, and plugged the phone cord into the charger, (formerly known as the cigarette lighter). Someone answered finally, and said it would be restored within an hour. We relayed the message to the tenants and apologized. Hanging up, we cracked up laughing that we were conducting business while camping in the woods! What a difference a cell phone makes!

Doug proceeded to make up our bed in the Prius while I finished washing the dishes by our solar lamplight. The water I heat on the camp stove is always so welcome to my chilly fingers after the sun goes down.
We walk together up to the restrooms to get cleaned up for bed. On the way back to camp, our sweet Prius is seen through the trees, waiting for us, with the light on inside. I commented on how cozy it looked, since Doug had arranged the pillows so nicely and the covers were turned back, beckoning us to get in. After that stressful call, I was ready to relax. I went to open my passenger side door, but it wouldn't! Doug tried his, and no go....and then another and then another. Frantic, we went over what could be wrong. Both sets of keys were locked inside, but that shouldn't happen. You're not supposed to be able to lock your keys in the car. It shouldn't let you....in fact it beeps at you till you figure out to remove your purse or whatever they are in. We circled the car as if it was prey, trying each door over and over, and of course praying. It was getting cold, and we were so close to our nice warm bed. A man walked by and asked us what was up. We told him and as soon as I went to show him, all of a sudden, the door opened! The only thing we can figure is that since both of our keys were in the car , it thought it was protecting us from robbers who were trying all the doors to get at us. Thank you Prius, I guess.
After all that, nice and cozy in our bed, no caterpillars, no more phone calls, no more civilization. We just rolled down the windows a crack, listened to the sounds of the forest and folks around a nearby campfire, someone softly strumming a guitar, and slept.

The next two days we took the free shuttle around the park. We walked along the River Walk. It was about 3 miles round trip, not so difficult......but even so,we were proud of ourselves for doing it.

 Other more athletic folks were all geared up with their paraphernalia to walk into ""the Narrows" at the end of the River Walk. They walk in to the 47 degree water through the canyon walls that are closing in overhead, with walking sticks to help them keep their balance. Doug went so far as to take off his shoes and walk into the water to cool his feet. I sat on a rock and talked to a nice lady from England.

Our very favorite area was at the Weeping Wall. You have to walk pretty much up hill, about a quarter mile in, so for us, we were puffing pretty hard. Just as you break into a sweat in the 91 degree temp, the big rock wall shows itself in a sort of cave/grotto shape, seeping water. A knowledgeable sounding person said that the water coming from the stones was thousands of years old. It drips cool water on your head and shoulders welcoming you. Tiny purple Columbine flowers grow out of the damp rock. When you finally turn around, you see the valley from which you've climbed, but only the tops of the tall deciduous trees framed by the reddish mountains on either side.

We broke up camp that day, sorting through all our old camping supplies and replenishing expired things. When checking if we left any last minute things, I found our friend's Yamaka, from when he said his prayers at the spot where we read in the morning. It's my favorite souvenir.

To get out of the park, we drove toward the east gate. In 1931, they blasted a long dark tunnel, that has a few arched windows to let you peek out to the scenery. There is a different look to the sandstone on that side.... almost a melting effect. It's so astounding, that you have to stop about every few feet to get a better look and take photos. Zion was a gift to our senses.

Next we drove to Kanab, Utah, a little town known as the "Hollywood of Utah", since many old westerns were filmed here. The beautiful red and tan sandstone mountains that surround Kanab drew producers of westerns to use it as their backdrop. The Hollywood Museum in town is free, and they have well preserved buildings from movie sets. We're thinking we will rent "Outlaw Josie Wales" some time to spot the house that we were in today.

It was about then that Doug proposed that our two week retirement trip wasn't set in stone. We didn't have to go back right away, since everything was basically being taken care of at home for a while. The great beginning of our extended retirement trip began with Doug saying, "I wonder if my friend from high school is home in Colorado. Maybe we could go there and visit him!" Well, he was.....and we did.

Being Auntie Pat

I've always told people that I was an "afterthought". My parents had already had 3 girls, the youngest of whom was 12 years old, and the eldest, 19. There is some proof, however, that I wasn't a surprise...I was planned. I felt some comfort in the fact, that my mom had a miscarriage before me, but still, even at 41, tried again. Perhaps I would have had another sister or brother, or maybe I wouldn't have been around.

When I was four, my oldest sister had her first baby, a girl. They lived a couple of hours away, so when they came to visit a couple of years later, my sister helped me bring her to my first grade class since it was my turn to "show and tell". I imagine that I educated the class about what a niece looks like, and the fact that I was the youngest auntie in the class.

Over the years, my sisters ended up having 10 more babies, and I found myself delighted with my little playmates. I was, after all, closer to their ages than I was to many of my own cousins. Most of them lived close by in the Bay Area, and would often come over to my house, where I lived with my Mom and Dad.

This is during a time way before video games or cell phones. We had a great time just being outside playing together. Running around my parent's white stucco house, chasing each other, was a major pastime. One game was called "the farmer and the chickens". It consisted of one kid being the farmer, trying to catch all the chickens before they ran all around the house and crept in to the "chicken coop", aka the porch swing, in the backyard. Much giggling and shrieking was involved in this game, as we tried to get by the farmer, who clearly was at a disadvantage being on his or her own.

Another memorable game was played on the cement front steps that were painted the obligatory red. It was called "school", and one child, the teacher, held a rock in one hand, and put forward both fists for a student (all of whom were sitting on the bottom stair), to choose a hand. If they chose the one with the rock, they graduated to the next step, but if they didn't, they either stayed where they were or, later in the game went down one step. This game was really good for all ages, except for the times when one of the littler kids felt bad about losing all the time, cried and wouldn't move. The first one to get to the top stair was the winner, and was the next teacher. I remember everyone having red chalky stains on the back of their pants after sitting on the stairs.

The lawn in front of the house was on a hill, so it was great fun to take turns rolling on our sides, over and over on the cool grass down to the sidewalk. The sidewalk usually had a hopscotch drawn on to it with chalk. Some of the older kids played hopscotch, while the younger ones tumbled down the hill. I learned from recess in grade school, that you should have your own bit of chain as your marker. I think it is called a taw. My dad gave me a few links of a toilet chain he found in the garage, while my friend had a small chain that hooks at either end, usually used as a key chain. The chains landed and stayed put where a rock might roll around, so it was preferable. A chain, being  longer though, might drape over a line when tossed, causing you to miss a turn. Sometimes, if there was a taw in each of the first three squares, you'd have to get a running start to make a flying leap over all the squares, and keep your balance on one foot after you picked up your chain, and then finishing the grid. We all had to keep an eye out for the toddlers, though, that they didn't randomly walk through the game, picking up the chains.

Back in the house, my Dad was always willing to answer the pleas of the grandkids to let them do "flips" on him. He'd hold their hands as they walked their little feet up his legs and on to his chest. Then they'd flip over backwards. The older, more experienced ones could flip back the other way, face beaming, and then get back in line for another turn. By the time all this was happening, I was about 12, and a little too tall for such things. I remembered wistfully that I had had my share of flipping in my day.

A couple of years later, I sat in front of the TV every couple of nights for my Laura Weber guitar lesson on KQED. I was very devoted and practiced every day, sitting by myself in the living room in my Dad's big chair. That's where I'd sit after a while with all my attentive, darling nieces and nephews, singing along with me, as I played and sang, "Oh They Built the Ship Titanic", and other songs that I still have in my Corduroy Book, a binder full of folk and pop songs. They had been painstakingly printed by hand on binder paper and many of the chords and words had been,.carefully transcribed by me and a friend by listening to records on my portable record player in the living room.
The Corduroy Book is still in use, as last May, I was asked to bring my guitar and music to my first niece's 60th birthday party. Her special request was to sing the Titanic song. We were sitting around a campfire, and as I looked out past the flames at the crowd, I saw many of my sweet nieces and nephews next to their own grown kids, singing along with their Auntie Pat once again.

Sickroom Supplies, Part 2.... The Hospital

You may have read my other story called "Sickroom Supplies" from last year when I was home with the flu. This time, I'm writing from a hospital bed in Kaiser Richmond ICU with an IV port on the back of each hand, and an oxygen monitor attached to my middle finger. It lights up the end of my finger just like ET's, only red instead of green. I think the nurses may have heard my not-so-original quip about "ET phone home" a few times before. They're getting used to my sense of humor, though, since I've been here now, for almost 4 days.

When my husband and I decided it was time to take me to the emergency room for repeated dizzy spells (I won't go in to details), we grabbed a couple of things to help pass the time. Both of us knew that a visit to the ER could involve a great deal of waiting, so Doug first grabbed the morning newspaper so he could be assured of his daily Jumble fix. There would also be a couple of crosswords in there; one for each of us, and a Sudoku or Cryptogram if I got desperate, depending on my condition. I also grabbed a few sheets from our New York Times calendar that has a page with a crossword on it for each day. We mainly just do Monday through Wednesday, since they get harder and harder through the week. I always have a few in my purse in case of a "crossword emergency".

Turned out it was a good thing that we went to the ER, since it was shown that my dizzy spells happened whenever my heart paused, or STOPPED for 3-6 seconds. I had been having these faint feelings since January, but didn't take them seriously, blaming them on dehydration or inner ear problems. My advice to everyone reading this is to not ignore dizzy spells. .....So that's how I ended up in the intensive care unit. At this time in my life, and at least for this emergency, I seem to be one of the younger, and relatively healthy ones in the ICU. Most of the patients in the other rooms need more constant care, such as turning them so they don't get bedsores. The person in the next room had some sort of breathing problem, and every time she coughed, the machine she was attached to made a sound not unlike the horn on a taco truck. She wasn't conscious, but I think if I was, I'd be trying to figure out how to cough to make a tune. (Sorry, that wasn't very nice.)

As for me, I feel pretty well between the "dizzy spells". They seem to pass over me and leave me feeling fine afterwards. Because I felt so fine, Doug and I made a list of things that would keep me entertained during my hospital stay. He thought he wanted to stay with me all night in one of those recliner chair beds, but one of the nurses discouraged him with tales of all the night noises, alarms and beeps that you shouldn't have to hear unless you had to. So, convinced that I would be well taken care of, he left with a promise to return in the morning with my supplies.

There really wasn't a very long list. My iPhone was almost out of battery, so he had to bring the charger so I could communicate with friends and relatives that were outside the 510 area code (the only ones that I could call from the bedside phone). Also, the iPhone isn't just a phone. I'm figuring out that when the din of the hospital is so loud, I can put on the Hawaiian music or George Winston station on Pandora Radio and pretend I'm in a spa. I can text our kids and check email, and even Tweet! When I can't go to sleep and want a story read to me, I can listen to Podcasts of Garrison Keillor doing his daily Writer's Almanac stories and poems with his soothing voice. It's like a bundle of goodies to soothe a person cooped up.
I still love to read a real book though. Even though I had read it before, I asked for my copy of Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods". We entertained each other the next day by reading aloud from it. One of the sentences couldn't be completed because I was laughing so hard, and Doug took the book from me, finished the phrase, and then got stuck, just as I did, both of us with tears rolling down our cheeks. Isn't it wonderful when a writer can communicate so well?

On a calmer note, I chose a book about settlers in Washington state, "The Living", by Annie Dillard. We're taking turns reading that one, since it's the history of the area where Doug was born, in Snohomish county.
Actually high on the requests were my favorite pens, a Bic 4-color one, and another that I got from an art supply store that has 6 (count 'em! 6!) colors of ink, plus a pencil. These are for crosswords. I bought a bunch of these pens when we retired, so we could always find one. We look like Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee, sitting in a restaurant doing a crossword together, each with our own color ink. Also, if a letter is changed, it goes in a different color, or if we cheat and look at an answer, it's in another shade yet!

Evidently, Kaiser is trying to be classy and gives each patient what looks like a little blue voile "spa" bag with all the grooming products one might need, including ear plugs and a sleep mask that has helped me through most nights, and a nice Kaiser "Thrive" shopping bag with fruits and vegetables on it, rather than the usual medicinal plastic bags to take your "parting gifts" home in. My mother-in-law, Helen would have said they were "fadink", her word for fancy. All I had to ask for from home was deodorant and jammy bottoms to hide my bottom when visitors come.

Some of the nurses have commented that they've never seen anyone in ICU sitting up in bed using a laptop, but that was one of my requests. I love checking on how many folks have read my stories and where in the world they live. I've been handing out my new cards printed lately with my blog address, to anyone who will take one, and I reminded myself of how Mr Dowd (Jimmy Stewart) gave everyone his card in the great old movie "Harvey".

Since I'm mostly here to monitor my heart, and figure out how to control its irregular beats (atrial fibrillation), I feel pretty well, surprisingly, even though my heart pauses sometimes, every 10 or 15 minutes. I have my share of IV ports, blood draws and shots in the tummy (heparin for anti-coagulation). It's not comfortable or as if I'm on vacation. If I ever got out of bed to walk the 3 steps to the toilet, I had to be unleashed from the short cords monitoring BP and oxygen. The very patient, knowledgeable nurses made it all bearable. One of them visited with me one night before she got off, and laughed so hard with me, as we both told each other jokes we've heard Paula Poundstone say and recounted our favorite stories from Garrison Keillor to each other. I ended up leaving the Bill Bryson book for her so she could laugh some more. It's true about laughter being the best medicine.

Late on the fourth day, a medicine has been found to regulate my heart, and I get to thankfully, go home tomorrow. I have a short list to make me happy when I get home. A long shower, a nap in our own bed, a nice, ripe, Santa Rosa plum off my tree, and a piece of Dove chocolate. Mmmm.   Home sweet home.

Palm Springs Musings

Twelve years ago, I met my husband. Just a few months later, we traveled to Palm Springs together to see his elderly mom. She was being cared for by his stepsister and her husband. I was happy to see that she was in such good, loving hands in her own home.... even though she was in a hospital bed. This made a good impression on me, that he hadn't put her in a nursing home. I had experienced caring for my relatives and thought it was an humane thing to do, (even though, admittedly, it could be difficult at times.)

We visited his Mom at the mobile home park where she had lived with her husband as "snowbirds". They traveled there from Washington state for the warm winter in Palm Springs for 23 years. Her brother visited at the same time with his wife, and he was teary-eyed to see his sister in what seemed to be a failing state. He spoke a little Dutch in her ear, as she lay there with her eyes closed.

Doug's family of 5 kids have many fond memories of traveling during the holidays to visit Grandma and Grandpa for a nice warm Christmas. They stayed with them at their mobile home, swimming in the pool and enjoying a great Christmas dinner. Their grandparents were popular, involved, making friends at happy hour with the Canadian "Snowbirds", and played in tournament shuffleboard.

After holding his Mom's hand and in a spiritual sense, bonding with her and meeting her, we went out for awhile. Doug said later, "I just love that trailer park! That's where I'd like to retire some day!" 

"Hmm", I said, "I don't think so.... at least I wouldn't."

Doug seemed very hurt.

The next part of the story is 11-1/2 years later.

We got married 10 years ago. I retired from my job a while ago, and then we worked together to close his store in Berkeley and he retired a year later.

Standing in the closed store.

One of the trips we took was to Palm Springs, for a week, but it was too cold....not at all the experience we had hoped for.  I said,"It doesn't even feel like we've been to Palm Springs!"

Doug had the idea to see what was going on at the mobile park. We went to visit his sister, but she was very busy. There was a shuffleboard tournament going on, and she was taking in the money for the bbq burgers, pie, etc that were being sold. There were lots of happy people mingling around.

We visited with some of them, and Doug said, "I wonder if there's a place we could rent for a week or so. There's supposed to be a warming trend."

When asked, folks said, "Nope, there's nothing for rent."

Those were fighting words to Doug. He pulled a map off the bulletin board of the park, and to prove them wrong, we drove up and down each street, looking for a "for rent" sign. The only sign was a faded "for sale" sign, and it had a phone number. A friendly neighbor came up to our car and said, "Call the number! Maybe they'll let you rent it!"

We did. The owner said he would come meet us the next morning. He was driving from San Diego and was late. We opened the gate and sat in the yard, waiting, and imagining what it would be like to stay there. Folks started coming in the open gate, since it hadn't been open for so long and was for sale! Luckily, everyone was gone when the owners came, and we signed a week-to-week lease for 2 weeks. 

Just then, a man came in and said he wanted to buy the place! Within a few minutes, our lease was turned over, and we had a new landlord. We could still stay the two weeks.

This was a great time. We got to know the community, and I figured out that they had a library, an exercise room, and  we joined the aqua-size class in the huge, warm pool. It was filled daily with friendly Canadian couples and their families, seniors who had lived there for years, and also friendly Gay men. Everyone seemed to get along famously.

The location is also fabulous. The Palm Springs Senior Center and the public library are right across the street, and all the stores, cafes, that you could ever need, including a frozen yogurt shop. There's even a thrift shop within walking distance, plus many, many more within the city. (It's amazing how excited I get about a thrift store. Doug calls me a "cheap date"). Plus, the weather, six months a year is lovely, encouraging folks to dress as if they're on a tropical island. The spectacular view of the close-by San Jacinto Peak is fascinating to look at as the sun sets behind it early every night at around 4 pm, providing a very long twilight.

Doug's sister, also a resident, "had her ear to the ground", and found out that someone in her neighborhood was looking to sell soon. She thought that Doug would be too tall for this darling place, but he wasn't. 

When we first saw this '55 Columbia Trailer with a long room with vaulted ceilings added on each side, I first thought of my Grandma Diddo's "Greenhouse" in Capitola. It looked like a beach house to me, and was artistically decorated from many garage sales. I told the owner, "I feel like I've gone to a thrift shop, I like everything, and I can have it ALL!'

We made a quick decision to buy it, at what we think is a very reasonable price. Many new cars cost less! We had looked around at other places that might be coming on to the market soon, but I kept holding on to the idea of the "beach house". It didn't look like any of the others to me, and Doug soon knew that this was the one for us. (Especially since I had had such an aversion to trailers before.....he thought he'd better go with what I liked!)

We drove back up to the Bay Area to tend to business, and couple of weeks later we were moved in. Participating in the Park's rummage sale, we sold all we didn't need that the owner left. We went to a dance (and danced!), and we swam again in the aqua-size class with fun people we've come to call friends. Within 2 weeks, we both bought bicycles and were practicing on the nice flat terrain.

Pat with our colorfully painted wall.

This little cottage has been anointed as "ours", since we painted the cinder block wall surrounding our patio in desert colors of olive, rust, bamboo, and marigold. We named the huge palm tree on our patio, "Connie", since the previous owner planted it. (She cried when I told her, saying, "You guys are so sweet!)

Doug with the newly painted door at our "cottage".

We are not snowbirds, but rainbirds, we say, since we only escape the rain of the East Bay, in Northern California, rather than the iced over lakes and deep snow of Canada. Alas, there are only 5 or 6 months that you can appreciate the nice warm climate of Palm Springs. Snowbirds are heading north now, telling us tales of how to "close down" our winter home. 120 degree temps have been known to melt plastic salt and pepper shakers and weather and dry up bicycle tires. After interviewing several folks at the pool, we followed instructions and put two big garbage cans full of water in each side of the cottage. They say when we return in October, the water will be almost gone! This keeps up the humidity during the hottest temps. We also had to put mineral oil in the toilet, and then cover the tank and the seat with plastic wrap, so that the water doesn't evaporate too quickly, allowing animals to find their way in....!

The previous owner left covers for all the windows to put on the inside, with the foil facing outward to deflect the sun. A good neighbor will be coming around to water my "test" plants, succulents, lantana, feather grasses, and bougainvilia. A lot of those are planted all over Palm Springs, so I opted to be safe. We'll see if anything's left when we come back.

"Connie" our palm tree with view from the patio.

 God Bless you little cottage. We'll miss you. Be safe.

I've Been Dreaming About Food Lately

In these last months of 2013, I've awoken with dreams in my head of different foods that I crave for the rest of the day. The only solution to getting them out of my mind is to let myself eat that food. The reason this becomes such a dramatic decision in my life, is that my husband and I have been "watching our weight" for over six years, counting calories and points.....sometimes losing. But for the last 6 months or so I've been watching my weight and my waistline increase. Therefore, denying myself baked goods has been a habit that I've accepted, and thought I didn't even care about.

Then came the dream about Angel Food Cake. At this point I don't even remember the dream, except that my Mom was baking the cake in her old kitchen from my childhood. As my alarm went off in the morning I could still smell the sweet aroma. The thought of the sponginess of the cake that I used to squeeze between my fingers when I was little became an obsession, and I bought a nice round one at the bakery. There was a farmers' market that day and they had the most luscious huge boysenberries and strawberries. I had a plan to satisfy my craving by sharing with grand kids that were scheduled to come over for a couple of hours.
Just when the first little one stated, "Grandma, I'm hungry!" I was ready with an answer... "Well, have you ever had Angel Food Cake?" She said," I Love Angel Food Cake!" "So do I!" Said the 3 year old, (even though I'm not sure he'd ever tasted it.)
I had already cut up the strawberries and stirred in some sugar, and they and the sugared boysenberries were put in separate red glass bowls. The kids helped me put it all on the table,  and it was a free-for-all as everyone had a slice of the plain, but luscious cake, covered with berries and covered with whipped cream squirted from a container. "I need more whipped cream on mine. I can still see a strawberry over here!" Seconds were had by some, and it was so satisfying, and not that bad for a lunch at Grandma's.

A few nights later I dreamt of my mother- and father-in-law, (Tutu and Grandpa), in their old apartment in Richmond, baking sugar cookies together. they made the best, lightest and most crispy sugar cookies ever. They made the dough, and then formed 1 inch balls with it, rolled the balls in a bowl of sugar, and squished the ball flat with the bottom of a glass that had also been dipped in sugar. Then they sprinkled even more sugar on top before baking. We all remember them working together as a friendly team in the kitchen. They were called "Helen Z's Sugar Cookies", and I used to have the recipe written in Tutu's handwriting, in my recipe file. Soon after breakfast, I was disappointed to not find it there, but found what was probably the same one in my "Joy of Cooking" book. (see Sugar Drop Cookies with Oil).
Once again giving in to my craving, I took a trip to Trader Joe's to buy some fresh flour and sugar. This was a real commitment to baking something. My mouth was starting to water at the thought of a cup of coffee with one of those cookies. Then I spotted semi-sweet chocolate chunks, a substitute for chocolate chips. I remember how everyone used to love my chocolate chip cookies that I made when I was a teenager. I vowed to make both of these cookies before the year is up.... only when there are plenty of people to share them with...... just so I could get my fill.
When I got home, it turned out that one granddaughter was visiting, so I thought I'd use this as a grandmotherly thing to do, and invited her to help me. Sometimes it seems that events like this can be rather nerve wracking for me. Standing on a chair next to the counter, the five year old kept insisting on pouring each measured ingredient into the bowl herself. I set the the bowl down in to the sink to minimize mess. She stirred the flour and made designs in it before slapping the spoon into it so it poofed all over. She proved to my amazement, though that she knew how to crack an egg. Her cookie dough balls kept growing in size and were re-dipped into the sugar extra times. When it came time to sprinkle the extra sugar on the cookies, I found some red and green colored sugar to make it look Christmasy. Before I knew it, the sprinkling turned out to be more of a "dump". I could hear myself being kind of anal about "we have to make sure that all this sugar doesn't stay on the pan... it might burn.... look I'll just brush it off". Bad Grandma. The first batch of cookies actually came out great. I felt I needed alone time though, so I had her hang some ornaments on the tree and do an art project while I kept cranking out more pan fulls.

One other morning, I awoke thinking about a wonderful sweet bread that my manager used to bring in to share with everyone. I had spotted the Mexican bakery some time ago, where "Senorita Bread" is their specialty, The Star Bakery in San Pablo, CA. While out doing last minute things for Christmas, I told my husband I was having another craving. We agreed to get it over with and joined people in line waiting for the next batch to come out of the oven. The aroma was heavenly. Senorita Bread is sold in boxes, the smallest having 15 pieces. We decided that was enough for our household. Each piece of hot, soft, leavened white bread is covered with butter and sugar. I think there is even a piece of butter inside each little bread that continues to melt, making the tiny loaves at the bottom extra buttery and sugary. Oh, I love it so! There is a warning to each buyer that the bread is very hot, don't eat it in the car, since melted butter might get on your clothes. We heeded the warning and waited to share this luscious, vein-clogging treat at home. Just two or three for me, and I checked that temptation off my list.

Yesterday, we had a "little Christmas" for one of the families who were out of town and didn't get to open their gifts yet. I had yet to make my chocolate chunk cookies. Time was running out. It's already December 30, and I saw this as a good opportunity to let everyone get fat with me. The secret of my old recipe is that I use Crisco shortening instead of butter. The old Toll House recipe on the chocolate chip package back in the 60's called for that. Butter, which is now recommended, just doesn't do the trick, and everyone always liked mine best.
When everyone arrived, the house smelled wonderful, with the fresh cookies and the scent of the Christmas tree. The semi-sweet chocolate chunks were a treat, since they provided more dense chocolate. Then my husband said, how about giving your secret recipe away? I did, but I kind of wish I hadn't, since I swear I could read their minds about hydrogenated fats and preservatives. Oh well, we all agreed. They taste yummy, and we don't eat like this everyday.

So now I'm in training for the New Year of 2014. The "My Fitness Pal" app on my iPhone has been notified of my new weight. It's a nice app that helps you count calories and how much exercise you've done, and shares your progress with other friends that are using it. And, did I mention? It's free! I can hardly wait to input that we'll be going to our aquatic fitness class on Thursday!
Now that my cravings have been sated, I'm ready for my usual manic first week of the year. I'll pamper myself this year with good health and creativity. How about you?

Getting Ready For Christmas: The Christmas Tree

Back in December of 1966, when I was 16 years old, (I'll wait while you do the math...), I went to my friend Anne's house, and was in awe of her Christmas tree. Her mother was very much in to decorating for every season, but this tree was so covered with ornaments and lights that it was hard to think where you might put one more. You could hardly see the green of the tree! I vowed in my heart that day, that some day I would have a tree like that.
A year later, Anne and I were in a modern dance class together, and we were supposed to make up a dance with some other girls, with costumes on, as soldiers, to Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker music. Her mother came to our performance, and gave us each a wrapped gift of a toy soldier/Nutcracker ornament, who looked familiarly like us, in our blue tights, red tunics, and tall hats. I cherished this, and thought, "This is the first ornament for my tree!"

From then on, I made a plan to buy at least one lovely ornament each year. By the time I had moved out of my Mom's house and had my own tree to decorate, I didn't have that many ornaments of my own, and had to subsidize the tree with packages of shiny metallic ball ornaments. When I was pregnant with my daughter, I found a recipe for "salt dough" ornaments, that could be painted, baked and shellacked. They've lasted a surprisingly long time, and so far only the snowman has lost his carrot nose and one carefully made angel was chewed up by our dog and then spit out because of the saltiness. Both of my kids and I made more years later, trying to duplicate favorites, and even pressing a dog's paw into the dough for posterity.

The kids brought craftily made treasures home from school. The story of one my daughter made in preschool is told every year. She always gives the disclaimer that she was only 3, and no one told her what it was supposed to be or that it would be hanging. Her little felt snowman hangs usually in the back of the tree with his boots on his head and his hat on the bottom. .....Darling!

Wrapped candy canes are something else to fill in with, but not too near the bottom of the tree, since the aroma may be too tempting for dogs. One dog we had, had became quite adept at snatching a cane from the tree. We watched as she settled down with it between her paws, chewed the cellophane open and licked the lovely peppermint with her eyes closed, looking dreamy at the lusciousness of it all.

So then there's the purchase of the tree. A real tree! Some people go somewhere in the woods to chop down the perfect specimen. We did that one time, and my daughter ended up scrunched into the back of our VW Adventurewagen, unhappily with it for the long drive home. One of the local lots suffices since then. My son and I found that the choosing of the tree went much quicker when his sister went off to college. We may not have been quite as discerning, but we could be in and out with a nice, full tree within 15 minutes, giving each other a high five!

A few years later, I had a job as a department store "trimmer". During the year, we'd change displays, and dress the mannequins in the latest styles. As the holidays approached, we dressed the entire store up for Christmas, to be ready for the day after Thanksgiving. The trees that were throughout the store had to be adorned with new lights, usually about 8 strands per tree and they were carefully wrapped around each branch, reaching deep in toward the trunk, to make a 3D effect. The maliable branches were "fluffed" to put them into the shape of a perfect tree after being stored away all year. I still insist on doing my own lights on our tree at home. Each year I use about 8 or 9 strands of multicolored lights and a couple of strands of a solid color to use as a lit garland, swirling from top to bottom. One year I used clear white for the main lights with a swirl of red lights like a candy cane. This isn't advised, since folks wished they had sunglasses on if they sat in the room with the tree.

When putting on the lights, it's good to have some mood music, like Bing Crosby, or Amy Grant's Christmas album, or at my house my husband will play piano so I can sing as I decorate. It's a slow process though, so I recommend lighting a fire in the fireplace, sharing some eggnog with whiskey in it, and watching "It's a Wonderful Life" for entertainment.  It's fun to make sure to have the bell ornaments ready for the end when the angel gets his wings!

It IS a Wonderful Life!!

Ribbon, wide, with wire on the edges, can also be used as a garland. Yard length pieces of ribbon can look wispy, when they're bent and curled sort of like ribbon candy winding through the branches. Simple bows can be made as well to fill in spaces, from some other velvety or shiny wired ribbon to help them keep their shape and attached with more wire to the branches. All these decorations last from year to year, and more can be added each year.

Once folks know that you like Christmas ornaments, it's likely that you'll receive a few as gifts. When I remarried, I made a tradition of giving a "family" ornament to everyone in our new combined family each year. The grandchildren are starting to notice the same snowmen, sleds, and angels that they have on their own tree.

Back in the day when my kids were younger, we had a lot of pets. Among them at one point, we had a dove and two parakeets. Every year, as soon as we got our tree set up in the living room, the birds were let loose to play in it. One Christmas eve, the birds were let out by one of the kids, to fly into the decorated tree. One of the parakeets was excited to see a bayberry candle lit on the mantle, and zoomed over to sit on the edge of it. Everyone screamed at her, but it took her little bottom a couple of seconds to realize the heat. She flew off, unharmed, but the room smelled like burnt feathers.

The kids and I started a tradition of putting collections of baubles together on the tree. The angels always are delegated to "fly" around the top. There is usually an imperfection, or hole in the shape of the tree, so the birds populate that area. The 3 wise men and any characters from the Christmas story are close by the angels, but the Santas are given a lower spot, not to outdo Jesus, and of course the nutcrackers and soldiers (especially my first ornament) are pretty much in front. Stories have to be told about many of the cherished ones, like a few that were my Mom's, the little Russian Santa on skis that looks more tattered every year. Having designated places for certain things keeps guests more interested and they sometimes joke about where things should go, trying to get the "system" right. Little kids can hang things anywhere though, since after they leave I'll probably move them.: )

A new tradition has developed the last few years, that has become my daughter's favorite. She's been organizing a tree decorating party and inviting her friends. It really turned into a good party when my husband surprised everyone with cracked crab, champagne, eggnog and brandy. It's been a delicious tradition ever since, with some of the same friends coming each year. They all bring some goodies to share, and patiently listen to our stories of the ornaments while we watch Elf, or National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.

My husband brought with him and his family the angel we place on the top, and the Danish tradition of Dancing Around the Christmas Tree. Someone mentioned at Thanksgiving, that it's not really dancing. That's true, but on Christmas Eve, before the gifts are opened, the tree is painstakingly moved out from the corner and the family holds hands around it. Grandpa, (my husband), usually calls out the song we'll sing, and then we sort of walk/march around the tree singing "Silent Night". Next he calls out "Jingle Bells", and we turn and go the opposite direction, with teenagers' eyes rolling and the happy smiles of the little ones. One time he said, "Should we do another song?", and a granddaughter cried out, "How about Old MacDonald Had a Farm!". Therefore, smiling, we marched (danced) in the other direction to two verses.

So..... It's almost time to buy our tree. What color lights should I use for an accent garland? Should we put the tree in a different corner of the room? ........ Actually, I think since I've written those words, I'm blessed to have these little concerns in my life. God bless anyone who reads this please.....and a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Staycation in Half Moon Bay....Number 2

It's Saturday, October 26, 2013, and as we drove home to Richmond from Half Moon Bay today, we felt very smug. There was no traffic going our direction on Hwy 92, yet cars filled with families setting out for the coast to check out the pumpkin farms were barely moving, backed up all the way to Hwy 280. They must not have checked their GPS. We wished we could tell them to turn around and get a pumpkin at Safeway.
Doug and I had the time to spend during the week at Half Moon Bay, and went to the best pumpkin patch around. It's called Arata's Pumpkin Patch. Some will be disappointed because they no longer have the big hay maze they were famous for, and now have a corn maze. I spotted a lookout tower that I think is used to look down on the maze to make sure everything's okay. This year I don't think it was needed, since I could see the adults heads above the corn. Kids were having fun in the petting zoo with the goats, and there were some good looking snacks to buy, but we weren't hungry. Just know that everything has a price. We made it out really cheap since we only bought one of their many assorted pumpkins, called a "turban"... and we didn't have kids with us.

The reason we go to Half Moon Bay is to stay at a favorite place of ours, The Cypress Inn. It's one of the "Inns by the Sea", and after you've stayed there one time, vacations are half off for you and your friends. This one is located near Miramar Beach, right on the coastal trail, and the sea is literally right in front of the Inn. It comes complete with an "innkeeper", Reg, who has hot and cold appetizers, crudites and cheeses, and lots of wine and other beverages for us to have our way with at 5:00 pm. We count this as our dinner.
At  7 pm, Reg brings out a homemade dessert, such as Apple Crisp with vanilla ice cream. Yum!
In the morning, you have a choice of breakfast brought to your room on a tray, or being served in the lobby by the fire and visiting with the other guests. There's always fresh fruit, an assortment of croissants and breads, yogurt, and sausages, plus something cooked to order, like Eggs Benedict or a big egg, potato, cheese burrito. We figure that with all the food we're given, the room runs about $90.!
And then there's the view...

This time, we made sure to spend the night on a Thursday so we could listen to our favorite piano player, Terry Disley, play his songs at the Miramar Restaurant, only about a 2 block walk along the trail. We're always delighted to hear his renditions of everything from Beatles tunes to Gershwin and listen to him speak with his great English accent. I suppose we might be becoming "groupies" since this time we bought a CD and had our picture taken with him!

The next day we had time to take a drive further down the coast and have lunch at a usual haunt, The Paradise Grill, at Capitola Beach. The locally grown Watsonville artichoke marinated in spices and stuffed with tons of shrimp salad and served with Caesar dressing was luscious!
We were fascinated by the unusual amount of seagulls that were bathing in the end of the San Lorenzo River. The restaurant's patio looks out on it and the Capitola Venetian Court, a scenic attraction. There were SO MANY birds...layers of them, now some pelicans, flying over the sand and out over the ocean and beyond the pier....it was like being in "The Birds"!

The hordes of birds were fun to look at, but most folks didn't venture out on to the sand for fear of getting bombed. We sat on a bench for awhile and observed more pelicans diving for food, sometimes 4 or 5 would splash into the water at the same time. Even some seals were barking and getting in to the action. On our iPhone, we discovered that there were schools of anchovies that they were all going after.
I had a kind of embarrassing thing happen as we sat on a bench  by the beach. A woman near me said to her husband. "Look honey! I think the splashes are fish jumping out of the water to be eaten by the birds!"
Well, since we had been sitting there so long and had the whole thing figured out, I said, "Actually the penguins are diving down into the water to eat the schools of anchovies!" She looked at me kind of funny and they walked away. I slowly turned to Doug and re-listening in my mind to what I had uttered, said, "Did I just say 'penguin'?" He nodded. There I go, being Miss Smarty Pants, and come out with the wrong word! Oh well.....
Another reason to come to Capitola was to buy myself a nice new silver ring, since I had lost one and my finger felt naked. I have a fat finger, so most of the little shops didn't have my size 10 ring and they all refered me to Super Silver Capitola, where they had 3 Trays of size 10 rings! Everything was 1/2 off as well, and I love a sale! It's a good thing that I wanted something simple and light, since they sell rings by their weight. Doug was once again impressed with my frugality.
Even ANOTHER place drawing us to Capitola was Petite Provence, on Bay Ave. I looked online for vinyl coated fabric with French prints that I had seen in Provence a few years ago. This is part of my plan to jazz up our patio. I'm going to cover the patio table with a beautiful yellow and red poppy pattern that also has painting of lavender on it. Check out their website to see the beautiful designs. I bought the fabric by the yard instead of a ready-made tablecloth, and I'll tack it right on. It should last 10 years in the elements, or so the owner said.
When it was time to head for home, we drove up the coast, watching more and more flocks of pelicans gathering and diving for their anchovie lunch.

Next stop, after a little traffic going back across the new Bay Bridge in SF, was home. We brought out a gift that Doug bought me, a great free-standing hammock. We bought it in Half Moon Bay and the wonderful Twice Is Nice Store, where they have seconds from Costco at unbelievable prices. It popped together with no assembly required.
As my Grandma Diddo used to say....

                                                                  "Ain't life Grand?!"