Now blooming at the Getty Center Central Garden

This wonderful leafy plant is now blooming and can be found at the beginning of the Central Garden at the Getty Center.

The Honey Bush, or melianthus major, is over five foot tall with a beautiful spiky burgundy flower. It comes from South Africa and although toxic when taken internally, it is used medicinally by their local people. They mostly use the leaves to make poultices that are applied directly to wounds, bruises, backache and rheumatic joints. I'm allergic to things that aren't toxin, so I'll pass, thank you.

Since the Central Garden is seasonal we have plants that come and go and sometimes it's a bit of work to keep up on the names. We have a wonderful contact who knows all things growing and he's a life saver when it comes to names of plants.

Kitchen stories: Those poor Colvin children

Around 1928 my mother's family lived in Greenville, Michigan and her father Thomas worked for Gibson Refrigerator Company. He had a management position and they had more money than when they lived in Indiana. They weren't rich but they did live comfortably. Comfortable enough to send the two older girls to a Saturday matinee once in a while.

Greenville was a very small town and like all towns they had their share of financial hard times. A citizens committee thought it a good idea to identify children of the families in need and treat them to an afternoon at the local movie theater. The newspaper also took pictures of this philanthropic event and when my mom and her sister showed up in front row of that picture printed in the Sunday paper, there was hell to pay. Needless to say, that was the last Saturday free matinee they attended.

Celebrating Spring

In 2006 we took an Easter Hike. Would like to do the same but I've volunteered for extra duty at the Getty Center that won't be possible. Maybe next week my beloved and I can get outdoors; we both need it.

Holidays are always the hardest to staff and since we don't celebrate Easter I'm celebrating Spring at the Getty. What better place. The garden is looking like Spring has sprung though the grass is a little ratty. It's been seeded and it takes a few weeks before it is lush and wonderful again. I always feel a bit sorry for the visitor who comes when it looks so bad but we have to do it sometime and I guess the timing has something to do with the weather. I always finds something that is spectacular and highlight that for visitors to reassure them they've come at the perfect day.

The weather is a guess these days and it's the same all over the country. I heard they had wildfires in Oklahoma and tornadoes in most of the south. I shouldn't complain about windy weather. Wear a coat or not? I know it's Spring when I have turtlenecks and shorts in the same load of laundry.

My Springtime wish would be for everyone to take a break from the news and do something that makes them happy. The news sure won't. What ever happens, put it in your rear view mirror and keep on driving.

Kitchen stories: Nicknames

My Great Grandpa Votaw, on my Dad's side, was a character. They called him "Doggie". His true name was Charles D. Votaw, born in 1878. Grandpa's wife died in 1941 and he and his "housekeeper" lived in a little house in Berne, Indiana for as long as I can remember. He called this woman his housekeeper but when I was older my mom told me it was his live-in girlfriend. She was with him until the day he died in 1968. I saw him just three years before that and he had not changed a bit from when I was a kid.

His house didn't have indoor plumbing because he'd say, "No one's gonna crap in my house." Us kids though it was funny though my Grandmother Lavon, his daughter, didn't like that sort of talk at all. He also had a little red pump in the kitchen sink. I guess he washed up there but he never seemed to clean to me.

There was always a garden and when we'd visit we'd sit outside this tiny house under the shade of a huge tree. I can't remember if he chewed or smoked but he always smelled of tobacco. Grandpa would always have a story to tell and how he got his nickname was pretty funny.

Before motorized trucks hauled goods around the country the teamsters did and when Charles was young he was pretty good with a team of horses so he became a teamster for the local railroad station. He was a tall skinny kid but strong as an ox and would sometimes stand in the wagon, a whip in one hand, and the reins in the other. He never wore much of a heavy coat, no, they worked to hard to get cold but he did fancy a cap with ear flaps. You could tie up the flaps when it was warmer but he said, "It was a damn waste of time 'cuz they'd always fall down, so most of the time they'd be flappin' in the wind."

One spring day he was late with a delivery and was "urging" the team on down the road at a good clip, standing up on the wagon with his ear flaps blowing in the wind. When he got to the station he was met by his boss and a few other teamsters. "Votaw, his boss bellowed, you look like a damn fool dog in that cap." The other men laughed, so did Grandpa, and the name stuck. From then he was called Doggie Votaw.

We have nothing to fear but ourselves

Not too long ago I wrote a piece on me being lazy. For what it's worth, I actually did something yesterday. And when I say "something" I mean painting. I "do" something every day. Cook, laundry, clean, well not everyday but I keep busy.

It was my Yoga instructor I have to thank for getting me back on a somewhat creative journey. She said, during our Savasana on Saturday morning, don't let fear run your life. So I'm laying there and wondering what am I afraid of? Is fear keeping me from being creative?

Then this bolt of lightening came through the gym and singled out me; I am afraid.

When I started in pastels, almost two years ago, I thought I'd sell some of my work. I know they aren't masterpieces but decent enough for someone to shell out a few bucks for and hang on their wall. This journey took me on the road to market my work. I made prints of my work for the folks who would love to own my work but didn't want to buy the original, matted same and framed them; quite nicely I have to admit. I bought a booth at a few Holiday craft shows and thought I'd priced my work reasonably. There we small miniatures of my work in the form of greeting cards, too.

When I couldn't get anyone to purchase anything more than a few of the greeting cards I'd created I packed up everything and put it all back in my studio. Shut the door always thinking I'd get back to it as soon as I'd washed the taste of defeat from my mouth.

Comes February 2008. I brake my wrist (read posts with label "wrist") and I am down for the count. My wrist still hurts to do somethings but painting is not one of them. Good excuse not to paint, right? My beloved never pushes, never asks why; I stopped in November of 2007. I did wonder but didn't try to find out the reason. Self doubt wraps its self around you like a wet blanket.

Yesterday I saw my husbands old boots in the corner of the stairs to the garage and knew I had to paint them. I don't care if it ever gets framed or sees the light of day-- I did it for myself and I feel pretty good about it. I'm not afraid if anyone doesn't like it nor wants to buy it. I'm only sharing this photo because I want someone to know I've found my way back to my studio.

Oh, and the Vodka bottle in the studio? Naw, not what you think. I just don't have room anywhere else for the booze.

Kitchen stories: Lavon Sumaria

Everyone has two parents and I'm no different, there. Relating to my beloved about the interesting information I'd found investigating my mother's maternal side, the Truesdells he asked what about my dad's family. We were as close to them living only about twenty miles away but I don't remember as much.

My Grandfather Howard Brian Eley, born 1896, I remembered as a gruff old cranky man. Stiff as a board and when my mom and dad divorced in the early 60s, disowned my mom, sister and me. I never did understand and it was hurtful to have your Christmas card returned with a note not to contact them anymore. He relented slightly and did have a relationship with his son but I never had much to do with him and when he died in 1976, I did not attend his funeral.

There are much better memories of my grandmother, Lavon Samaria Votaw. She was quiet and kind and a pretty good cook. Born in 1902, she always referred to as "ought two", and married at 18. She was a proper church attendee and I was surprised to learn, just last week, she was pregnant when they married.

Lavon had little formal education but in her later years could speak on any popular subject. She read the paper cover to cover and loved sports though had trouble remembering the name of a LA Lakers basketball player from the late 90s, Vlade Divac. She called him the "bearded foreigner" and that name stuck with all of us.

Lavon never cursed and I rarely remember her raising her voice. She was patient with the grand kids and secretary of the Eastern Star for more than fifty years. Not one to give up on anything. She had five children the youngest coming quite late in life. My uncle Roger, as an adult, related how difficult it was to have a father too old to play catch with him as a kid. He grew up like an only child and I think, very lonely.

Three boys and two girls lived in a very small little house that Lavon occupied until about a year before her death. She was still spry of mind but her poor body had given out and rather than fall down the basement steps, again, her remaining sons moved her to a retirement home. Not an easy decision for anyone, when my Dad visited her in the home he said it was the saddest moment he ever had.

In the early 80s she would travel from Decatur, Indiana to my dad, Gene and his wife Mary's in Palm Desert and spend the winter. I believe this was the joy of her life. It was happy for me because I got to see her as an adult and she even came to stay with me for a week. So happy to have my young daughter enjoy some of the same things as I did.

Lavon confided to me her pain in losing her two daughters. Harriet died suddenly in her 40s and Bernadette, dying in a car crash on vacation, was in her 60s. Grandma said it was difficult losing Howard, her husband, but to outlive your children was heartbreaking. She would outlive one more, her first born son, Gayle. He died when she was in her 90s. She was a kind woman but strong in spirit and I might get a little of her stubbornness from her.

Welcome: baby

Here's our second baby, the one with the blue booties.

He was born today and checked in at a whopping 8lbs 2 oz. 20 1/2 inches long. Momma and Daddy are doing fine.

Welcome little guy.

An attention whore

Cooking has been the thread through both sides of our family and I seem to have passed that love on to my daughter which make me quite happy. I do it for the praise; I'm an attention whore and love the adulation. The challenge is important, too but praise is what I live on so I cook, and feed, and cook some more. This sometimes, for me, can be a problem.

The Teardrop Gathering at Lake Perris was great this year and since I'd won a outdoor dutch oven in the raffle last year I participated in Friday's DO potluck. Got lots of great ideas for managing my outdoor cooking and we ate some pretty good food, too. Some pretty ordinary food as well which is the reason for the post.

Outdoor Dutch Oven cooking is not for the faint of heart nor feeble of muscle. Visit our food blog, Peanut Butter Etouffee and see. You are cooking with hot coals, no way other than guess work to regulate, and sometimes, an unfriendly environment. I've seen the enemy, and it is WIND. Did I mention the weight? My 12 inch weighs all of 25 pounds. So why would you just use it to heat up something canned when you've got a camp stove?

The DO is a cast iron beautiful bit of engineering. Heavy pot on three, perfectly balanced legs leaving room underneath for the coals. The lid, heavy with a lip that allows coals on top without getting them into your food. This lid fits tightly on the pot but can be turned easy so there are no "hot" spots while cooking. My darling made me a lid lifter and pretty much anything I ask for. Nice to know someone who welds. Ok, so why not use it to its limit? I love cooking tools but only use the correct tool for the job. Jeeze, I'm a snob.

Once I made a large pot of chili verde while camping and with it was serving beans. Since you can stack one pot upon the other and take advantage of the heat from the bottom, I had beans in the smaller pot on top of the chili verde. I was only really heating the beans so the camp stove would have worked better. The DO is no easy critter to handle and clean up. Empty, it requires hot coals to boil water while you scrub out the pot, rinse and repeat until clean. Never, ever put soap in a DO it ruins the seasoning. The last thing I want to do is heat something in it.

Oh, but if you want a real treat, like biscuits, lovely fluffy biscuits when you are camping by all means get yourself started. I warn you, it's addicting.

Kitchen stories: Chickens

When I was young, about six, I spent a week with my grandmother Emily and her second husband Virgil Rollins at their lake cottage. She met Virgil at the General Electric plant in Ft Wayne. He was a truck driver, she worked in the factory, and they dated for a long time. Finally, in 1952, she agreed to marry him and he moved in with her. I believe he owned the cottage at Snow Lake. Virgil never had children of his own and loved being part of this growing family. Each of the girls, my aunts Mary Alice and Marcella and my mom had two children and the boys, Uncles Tom and Joe produced an additional 11 grand children between them.

It was always fun to be go to the lake, Virgil loved all the grand kids and was a kind patient man. He supplied the love that Emily couldn't but she loved him more than she loved anyone else. Adversity was to visit Emily once more; in the late 50s Virgil was diagnosed with throat Cancer. She would take care of him for less than a year before he passed away. After he died she sold the lake house because she'd spent her happiest days there and it was torture without him by her side.

On the way to the lake we stopped at a farm and bought three chickens and the next morning Virgil took them down to the lake and axed their heads off. They ran around headless flapping their wings and when they'd stopped their running he took them into grandma to clean. As I think about it now I'm horrified at the thought of that sight but then it didn't bother me in the least.

Sitting on a chair in the corner of the kitchen I watched Emily pull most of the feathers then she proceeded to clean out the "inards" and remove the final small feathers. She taped a few of the big feathers together on a piece of folded newspaper, attached a string, and tied that around my head telling me it was my war bonnet. That might have been the only time she did anything fun with me so I cherish that memory. The big reward was the perfectly fried chicken for dinner that night.

Emily cooked many meals at the lake and one of my favorites was a fish caught in the lake; Sun Perch. Grandpa Virgil and my uncles would fish all Saturday and bring home buckets of them. She'd always clean them herself but not remove the bones. There would be big heaping platters of the fried fish along with corn on the cob and always bread with butter just in case you swallowed a bone. From an early age us kids knew how to remove the spine and all the little bones from our fish. The bread was always there but I never remember anyone choking.

When Virgil took us kids fishing it was only about twenty feet from shore. I realized later we really weren't fishing. He'd bait a line for us and put it in the water until we got board and wanted to go swimming. I'm sure that's why he kept close to shore, he knew it wouldn't take long for us to lose interest. The only time Virgil raised his voice was when my cousin let all the minnows used as bait go.

In the boat or on the dock we had to wear a life vest whether we could swim or not. I know I didn't swim but could paddle around with the life vest on all day. Best memory was of the mud and if you have not stepped into a lake and felt the soft squishy mud between your toes you've never lived.

Interested in starting at the beginning of these stories? Read Kitchen stories: an ear full

I thought I was just lazy.

Last year I broke my wrist and stopped painting for a while. Now, for some reason I can't start again. It's been troubling me and I keep making excuses for not getting back to the studio. It seems I'll do almost anything to keep from picking up the chalk. It's not because of my wrist, I've worn out that excuse, although "downward facing dog" kicks my butt from time to time.

Writing has become more of a challenge but I'm running out of Kitchen Stories and I've been spending way too much time at the Family History center at the local Mormon church. Not that they aren't all darling people there. I've never met a Mormon I didn't like except when they start to talk religion. Oh wait, I did work with a horrible woman but she was a convert and not born to the LDS church. Horrible. So horrible I won't even talk about her here for fear the page explodes. If I believed in anything I'd believe she was the devil; but I don't. I could start a rant on people who are converts to anything but I'll leave that for a completely different post. Converts who share; suffering bores. That includes people who've quite smoking, lost weight, found Jesus, Jehovah, Muhammad or blogging. Keep it to yourself.

So, who am I? A quote from Mary Todd Lincoln might be my mantra, My evil genius Procrastination has whispered me to tarry 'til a more convenient season.

After reading Wiki's definition of procrastination I feel like pulling down the shades, curling up and closing my eyes for a while. Are you afflicted with this illness?

Kitchen stories: The Great Depression

My mother Lorna was the first of five children in her family. Three girls then two boys. Before the boys were born her Emily and Thomas had a grocery store in Southern Indiana, Jeffersonville. I don't think it was very large and they lived above the store. I do know they had a wood stove for heat and cooking and Emily said she could cook anything on that stove. You didn't dare let the coals die during the winter or you'd freeze to death and even the children, at an early age, learned to keep the fire going. There was always a pot of coffee at the back of the stove for anyone coming by.

In the late twenties they moved to Greenville, Michigan and Thomas went to work for the Gibson Refrigerator Company and, as a family history states, had something to do with the design of the gas refrigerator. I've done a small bit of investigation but found nothing to substantiate this claim.

What I do remember is momma telling of the Christmas they were in Michigan and how much money they had. Everyone had lots of gifts to open and each package her mother opened had luxuries like electric toasters and waffle irons with an added bonus; there were $100 bills slipped inside. It wasn't long after that the Great Depression hit and they ended up back in Indiana on a farm outside of Ft Wayne, in Monroeville. Thomas told the children he wanted them to know the joys of growing up on a farm as he and Emily did but my Aunt Marci confided it was was cheaper to live there and grow some of your own food. From time to time different relatives would move in with them and on Sunday Emily always cooked enough for a visitor or two.

Once Emily, knowing they were having a difficult time, told a city relative to come by and she'd give her a chicken. Grandma asked the husband if he knew how to kill it and he assured her he did. The woman took the chicken then invited them to dinner that Sunday. When they walked it the house it stunk to "high heavens." She didn't gut the chicken and cooked it with the "innards." The chicken was inedible. Emily had her come back to the farm where she gave them both a lesson on butchering a chicken.

The Depression was pretty hard on most city people but on the farm they raised chickens and and had a little truck farm; they even had a calf, they called him Popeye. When Popeye got bigger the three girls loved riding him but one day he was gone and they suspected he was served the next Sunday. When a baby chick would die, which would happen often, they would bury it in a matchbox in the yard complete with good Catholic burial to send it off to the great beyond. She said for a while you couldn't walk through the yard without stepping on a chicky grave.

The youngest, Uncle Joe was six-weeks-old when his father died but somehow Emily Pricella, now called "Pruce", carried on. She tried starting a beauty shop in her house for a while but ended up working at the Perfection Bakery in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. One of the benefits of working there was once a month she could buy a big box of "day old" bread and pastries for a quarter. She'd drag a huge box home on the street car just for the sheer joy it brought her kids. She'd also share with family members that always seemed to show up on that day. She'd also never let the kids eat the Ginger Snaps because she said the swept the floor and put it in the cookies.

Kitchen stories: we all have skeletons

Thomas and Emily stayed in Kentucky until right after my mother Lorna was born. They headed by to Jeffersonville where is family lived. Not much is known about the Colvins. Thomas had a few brothers and sisters and it seems most of the family was on the wrong side of the law. Wilder Colvin was married to a woman named Johanna Dabney from Ohio or Pennsylvania. When Johanna married Wilder her family disowned her. She had a few children and later the family relented and asked to meet her in Ohio. She had no money for a winter coat so she went without, caught pneumonia and died. I don't think the Dabneys had anything else to do with the Colvins after that.

Grandma Emily would tell of her father-in-law, Wilder and his business of counterfeit dollars. Once, when Federal agents were searching the house, Emily stood on a rug holding my mother in her arms. Under the floor boards were the counterfeit dollars. She said she was shaking the whole time. It wasn't long after that exciting episode they left the Colvin house to start out on their own.

Thomas' young brother Dewey. When he was young he and a friend got themselves in a bit of trouble for stealing something minor. For this they were sent to reform school which turned out to be the best education a young lad inclined to larceny could have gotten. When released he fancied himself an outlaw and robbed gas stations, liquor store and the like; did a little time, too. Story has it he got ambitious, robbed a bank, and was shot in the process. At that time you died from getting shot in the process. Now this story was never told but my mother learned about it and was sworn to secrecy for the shame of it. She kept that secret for a very long time.

In the 1980 when genealogy became popular my aunt and her sister-in-law went to Jeffersonville to research some family history. My mom was horrified and told me the story and was afraid the two researchers would find out the truth. When she spoke with her sister she asked tentatively about Uncle Dewey. Yes, they did find some newspaper reports but had known the story for years as their mother told them the same thing and swore them to secrecy, too. Seems Emily told quite a few this "secret."

Kitchen stories: a word from Marci

Taking a little break here. This is from a letter from my Aunt Marci, my mom's youngest sister. She sent this letter after my mom passed away and I'm glad she shared this with me.


This is not a story about Lorna, but, as you will see, there wouldn't have been a story without her.

When she was eighteen Lorna worked at the General Electric. As do all eighteen-year-olds, she spent all of her money on clothes. One payday she came home with a pair of I. Miller shoes. Now I'm not talking just any shoes … I am talking a pair of navy platform sandals. At that time, I. Miller was the Mount Everest of Shoedom. And, the most expensive shoes that Wolf and Dessauer sold. (Wolf and Dessauer was the place to go for swanky clothes in Ft Wayne.)

The next payday she added a silky two-piece navy and white print dress and a navy straw fisherman's cloche. Now if you've not heard of that hat, it's nothing more than a version of a real deep sea fisherman's hat. The difference is Gene Tierney wore one in some movie and instantly every adult female in America was sporting one.

Now comes the good part. I had this adventurist spirited friend, Clare. Together we cooked p this plan to borrow our big sister's clothes and go do something … adventurist!

Lorna actually let me borrow the whole rig. I don't know how I talked her into it, probably agreed to wash her underwear for a year. Trust me, your mother was no push-over.

Comes the night. I don't remember what Clare wore, but picture this--a fifteen-year-old that looked thirteen, with a twelve-year-old body. I am arrayed in a dress that probably wasn't much more than a size too big, a hat half as big as I am, and those magnificent platform shoes.

No one was home when I left or I probably wouldn't have gotten out of the house (what do I mean probably). We meet at the street car line and downtown we go.

We go into the Berghoff Garden Grill, slither into a booth and order a "Tom Collins." To her everlasting credit, the waitress does not laugh.

A few minutes later, we have our two glasses in front of us, and we are prepared to be initiated into adulthood (six years earlier than the law allows).

I take a taste, Clare takes a taste.

"What does this taste like Clare?"

"Lemonade."

"Lemonade with Gin?"

"I don't know what Gin tastes like."

"I don't either, but I think we'd know if there was something besides lemonade."

"Right."

"What should we do?"

"Drink it, pay the bill, and go home."

That's exactly what we did. We never told anyone, even till now, what we did. I carefully put Lorna's outfit back in the closet and that was probably the saddest ending to a great adventure.

The waitress at the Bergoff is still in the kitchen, laughing her fool head off.

For the Irish in all of us

Happy St Patrick's Day

Kitchen stories: Mom's birth

For Grandma Emily Pricella to get off the farm all she had to do was marry a man ten years older than herself. Her future husband, Thomas Perry Colvin, came into her life when she was almost fifteen. He'd worked on their farm as hired help and wanted to marry her. Now her father James didn't want to lose her, she could work in the fields and could even drive a buckboard so I'm sure that's why she wasn't married until she turned sixteen. She was sixteen on January 1, 1922 and one month later married. I believe they ran away since they were married across the Ohio river in La Grange, Kentucky

Le Grange, in Oldham county Kentucky, is an odd little town. The train tracks go right down the center of the small street. Literally, everything stops while the train moves through. It was on the trip to locate our family cemetery in New Albany that my sister, aunt and I wandered over the river into Kentucky to find the birthplace of our mother. She was the only sibling of five to be born in Kentucky and it was a small town with an odd name; Pewee Valley. Mom was always teased with the name of her birthplace but I found later the town is named for a local bird, the Pewee, and had nothing to do with the size of the the quite small city.

Since she wasn't born in a hospital and we had no clue to where they lived, so we drove on through this very small town and ended up in Le Grange. The older section of town had some antique shops as well as some touristy places so we parked and started poking around. Standing in a gift shop I felt the rumble before I heard it and thought we were having an earthquake. Nothing major mind you, I'm quite the expert on the ground moving but I did look up, check to see what was shaking and when I then heard the rumble, glanced outside. I was quite amazed to see a towering locomotive with dozens of cars lumbering up the street just inches from our rental car. We stepped outside to see this sight as did a few other strangers in town; the locals just go about their business.

It's hard to imagine my grandmother at sixteen, newly married and pregnant with her first child. Yes, I've done the math and there was no "happiness ahead." She did come early and grandma tells this story.

It was mid-December and though cold, no snow. They had no car but did have a buckboard and Emily, no stranger to driving one, used it to go to town. God only knows where her husband was but on the 14th, as she was coming back from town, the horse spooked and threw her down on her knees. All alone she got the horse and wagon under control and drove home. It was still a few weeks until her due date but the next day she went into labor. The mid-wife was called and momma, Lorna Georgiana Colvin was born later than night.

I never asked grandma if she were frightened because I don't think she ever was. If she was she never showed that side of herself. Anyone knowing her knew she was a tough old bird and this could be the result of a lifetime of pain and disappointment. She was 25, had five children, one only six-weeks-old, and in the midst of the depression her husband died.

Kitchen stories: Capt Clinton Truesdell

Not all stories heard were funny; some just odd. This was a story not heard as a child so at least sometimes the family was descrete. I was reminded of this part of the family history when my sister and I were investigating the family cemetery in New Albany a few years ago.

Our maternal Grandmother, Emily's family farm was in the southern part of Indiana, New Albany just across the Ohio river from Louisville, Kentucky, and was given to them by her Grandfather, Clinton DeWitt Truesdell, born 1827 in Galla, Ohio. He was a riverboat captain on the Mississippi. Grandma always said St. Louis but some other data says St. Paul; either way he moved commerce on the mighty river.

James Morgan Truesdell, born 1864 in Lawrence, Ohio, was her father. As a young boy he took to the Mississippi as a cabin boy aboard the riverboat, Marrietta out of St Paul. The captain of this boat was Clinton DeWitt Truesdell, his father. I'm not sure how old he was, but James fell in love with a woman and had a child. When he informed his father he was told they couldn't marry. Seems Capt Clinton had an extra marital relationship and this woman was his half-sister. James left the woman and the son and later met and married Susan Cora Very from New Albany, Indiana. These were Grandma Emily's parents.

Clinton gave them the land for their farm and it was there grandmother, Emily Pricilla, January 1, 1906, the seventh of fifteen children was born. Captain Clinton left the river and lived with them on the farm and eventually died there.

Emily's maternal grandparents, Martin and Mary Jane Very, also had a farm in New Albany and it's on that land we found Slate Run, the family cemetery. Grandma spoke fondly of that farm and of the Very grandparents. Martin Very was a kind man. He built a Methodist Church and would let poor families bury they relatives in the cemetery resulting in a number of headstones with no family ties.

Grandma spoke little of her childhood. With all those kids the farming family was extremely poor and her father, by many accounts, was quite lazy. Grandma Susie, on the other hand, was energetic and when she'd say, "I'm gonna take papa his lunch out in the barn," the older kids knew there'd be a new sibling soon.

She did tell of the Spring House, a little house built over the stream used to keep the milk cool and though the children were not allowed in, in the heat of the summer, they'd often sneak down and have a taste of the cool milk. She said knowing it was forbidden made it all that much sweeter.

When she did talk of her time in New Albany it was to relate how very poor they were. All the children needed to work to help support the huge family. I did get the impression she didn't have a happy childhood. She lived through the Influenza 1918 outbreak but lost a good friend. Lifes day-to-day struggle touched her personally when she was nine and came down with the chicken pox. After contracting them her two-year-old brother Cecil Albert died. She always said it was because of her. Sad to think she carried that burden her whole life.

Everyone worked on the farm, even the younger children and when Emily was ten she worked all summer on a neighbor's farm to have money for a warm winter coat. When time came to be paid her mother took the money and she was given a hand-me-down. You can see why she left the farm as soon as she could. The only way for a young, uneducated woman to get away was to marry and when Thomas Perry Colvin, ten years her senior, came by she was more than happy to become his wife. They married in La Grange, Kentucky February 4, 1922; Emily turned 16 the month before. My mother was born in December of that year.

Cell Phone Numbers Go Public; not

I posted something that was in error regarding registering your cell phones so telemarketers could not obtain your number. There is an e-mail circulating as well as some media reports; all in error.

The most important is the following:

Contrary to the e-mail, cell phone numbers are NOT being released to telemarketers, and you will NOT soon be getting telemarketing calls on your cell phone.

There is NO deadline by which you must register your cell phone number on the Registry.

There is only ONE DNC Registry. There is no separate registry for cell phones.

The DNC Registry accepts registrations from both cell phones and land lines. You must call from the phone number that you want to register.

So, no need to rush and register but definitely register. Life is just a little nicer without those pesky calls. If you've registered for more than 31 days and are still getting calls, file a complaint.

File a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission.

One here; one waiting

Our "pink" baby came on Monday and she is a darling little doll. Mommy and Daddy could not be prouder. Pix to follow.

I've not seen her in person but I live across the street and have viewed the stream of family and friends arriving to give witness to this blessed event. Not a voyeur, just watching from my sick-bed. By Monday I'll be good to make a visit. I hope the new smell isn't gone by then.

Baby "blue"? He is somewhat on schedule for April and it would be kind for him to come then but who really knows with these small packages.

It's raining lemons

As an update to the previous post. Life really threw me a few the past week. On Tuesday my darling and I stopped by the local Popeye's restaurant for a quick lunch. It turned into four days in bed for me. Lucky husband didn't eat the same thing because he had to nurse me back to health. He did a fine job though cooking not his forte I couldn't eat anything anyway.

And, because my glass is half full, I lost four pounds.

I do have lemons

Wish I'd said that:

When life hands you lemons, ask for tequila and salt and call me over.

Kitchen stories: An earful

When I was young I loved to listen to grown-ups talking at the kitchen table. After dinner, the dishes removed and replaced with cups of coffee, they'd talk about all sorts of grown-up things. Politics, gossip but what I like most, old family stories. My cousins were off doing something else but I was quiet so most times I'd go unnoticed and get to stay. I'm not sure I spoke much and for a while thought I might be invisible but that's another story. Many times I remembered playing under the table. If they did shoo me away I'd end up in the hall just past the light from the kitchen, still within earshot.

My mother's uncle Jim was a great story teller and I'm sure added things that weren't exactly the truth but he could spin a tale. One of my favorites was the one he told often about his mother, Susan Truesdell.

The Truesdell family had eleven children surviving to adulthood but when this story took place there were only a few. They were a farm family and though school was available the older boys didn't stay in school very long. One reason might be they were feisty boys.

One evening one of the older boys, about twelve came home from school and told their mother, Susie about the teacher whipping him with a switch. Susie never asked what he'd done but went to the barn, saddled her horse and loaded her pistol. Off she rode down the road to the school house. Driving his buggy home that evening the teacher saw Susie coming, slowed his horse, got out and stood next to the buggy. There were no pleasantries exchanged. From horseback Susie shouted at the teacher, "Did you whip my boy Martin?" The teacher said yes and started to explain the reason. Susie drew her pistol, said "Don't you ever touch one of my children again, " and fired hitting him in the ear. She calmly rode off.

The teacher, far from mortally wounded but seriously scared, jumped into his buggy and sped away to town. He found the sheriff and insisted he arrest Mrs. Truesdell showing his bloodied ear. The next day the sheriff arrested Susie and took her before the judge with the teacher. The judge listened while the teacher, with a bandaged ear, emotionally told his side of the story. The judge never listened to Susie but told the teacher, "Susie Truesdell is a pretty good shot. If she wanted you dead you would be. I'd suggest not whipping her boys anymore. Case dismissed."

The teacher taught the rest of the term but never raised his hand in anger against any of the Truesdell children.

Babies?

There are babies coming.
Tiny toes,
tiny ears,
big voices and wet bottoms.

Sweet little hungry pink mouths
darling knees;
they are coming two by two
one pink one blue.

Chubby round little faces and dark eyes
tiny grasping hands complete with finger nails;
Can't wait to see the color of their hair.

They are coming and
Mommies and Daddies are anxious, too.

Updates to follow.

He could read the friggin' phone book and sell it

I just like to hear him speak but can't stand all the "after" drama. I don't need anyone to tell me what I heard. I liked what I heard.

Text of his speech

Louisiana Gov Bobby Jindal is trying to make a name for himself and run for President. Jindal's politics are firmly on the Republican right: he is opposed to abortion, embryonic stem cell research, gay marriage and the moratorium on offshore oil and gas drilling. We will hear more from this punk.

Information pant-load

Let me just say one thing about our new President. Leave him the hell alone; it's only been a month. Do I like every single thing he's done? No, but I like it a thousand times, maybe a trillion time, more than the last administration. I hated them the moment they took office.

Why does he need to be scrutinized every day? This information overload is disturbing. There are so many news outlets needing to say something new or different that they look like sharks feeding.

In my opinion Bush was elected by the Supreme Court and not the American people for his first term. What happened four years later just amazed me but the Dems did not have a decent candidate but enough about the past eight years, time will be the judge on that presidency.

So will giving each person a check work? I don't think so; I didn't like it when it came from the past administration and I think it's fluff but it's part of the package. Now one thing that could help is the subsidy for COBRA for laid off workers. I know a few and if you are trying to find a job the last thing you need to worry about is health insurance for your family. This part of the package addresses people who need it.


What worries me more? Those monkeys in Sacramento. You need to keep tabs on them and they are way easier to contact. Find your monkey from this link. California State Representative.

Need to drive in the Carpool lane?

I'm sure this would qualify you for the HOV lane. Sure, just tell the cop, when he stops you, these are co-workers.

Buddy?

This is not our dog; repeat, NOT BUDDY. He looks like Buddy but it's his doppelganger. He seems to be the anti-buddy. Click the link to see a video and read about this amazing dog. "Thrown Away Dog Saves Little Girl."


This is our Buddy. He's never saved a life, that we know of, and he's just a tiny bit bigger than the dog above. He is a very loyal, good at heart, dog. If I'm sick he'll stay right at the foot of the bed and he barks at intruders. I love him just as much as he's heroic cousin.

We'll be watching and waiting

It has been a year since my beloved had a cancer removed from his bladder and four periodic test for the recurrence of that cancer. Now, instead of every three months he will go every four months for a test. Doesn't sound all that much better but it is because it a step closer to going every five months for a year, then twice a year, and finally yearly. You see, his type of cancer is what the Dr called an annoyance like some skin cancers. You just have to keep watching to make sure they don't come back.

So when you find yourself at your happiest you also get bad news. Why? Who the hell knows, it's just how the universe works. I'm thrilled and a good friend is sitting in the hospital with her husband and her news isn't so good. He has Non-Hodgkin lymphoma, a type of cancer. I've read it responds well to chemo and I do hope this is the case with him. They are a darling couple and I think of her by his side and how lucky he is to have her. I also think of her pain and wish there would be something I could do or say to help. But there is no magic cure, just waiting.

Sisters

Publishing photos of myself is something different for this blog but I got such joy from finding this photo. I was contemplating giving away an old book and there it was, stuck in the back. As with all photographs there is a story.

In 1988 Doodles and her beloved invited us to their condo in Key Largo, Florida. They were living in Connecticut and thought it would be fun to celebrate Christmas in their little corner of paradise. I even made t-shirts for the trip for everyone--I'm wearing one in this photo-- which was not something our sixteen-year-old lil bird had a desire to wear but did without too much complaining.

We had a great trip of sightseeing, snorkeling, and boating and way too much laughing but that's what family's are all about. Now the next June, sister Doodles invited me down to celebrate my 40th birthday, just the two of us, and we won't tell anyone what we did.

We have our winner!

What a great event! I've selected two winners and they are:

Donna K Schrader at cards and clay in Alaska. She'll be receiving the set of art cards.

Chris Bennet at Creative Corner in New South Wales, Australia. The handmade felt lapel pin will be traveling off to her.

Check out their blogs to see some creative people. Thanks to all the artsy folks participating in this fun event and to all those who came to comment. Don't be strangers.

Weather report: Damn this is good

If I complain about wind I should surely express my thoughts of our current weather, rain. Lovely, soothing rain. The sound, the smell, the wetness--wetness? It is music to my dry ears and has come at a wonderful time, on the heals of a horrible windy January. I can't say enough. Sure, I can't walk or go to water aerobics but our rainy season will be all to short so will sit and enjoy. Reading, knitting, writing, anything quiet enough not to interfere with the drops.

We are trying to conserve water so days like this are a bonus for my thirsty citrus trees though the orange tree, in full blossom, has shed a number of blooms under a pounding shower a few days ago. The fruit from the orange has never been prized but the lemon, ah the lemon, is a favorite with friends and neighbors.

For the dry times I have a CD on my Ipod, Thunderstorms. I've gone to sleep many a time listening to that one. I should really live in the PacNorthwest where rain is not the fleeting visitor but a companion. I did try but we had to move to Bakersfield and after that the prices of property in Oregon skyrocketed; now with the crap economy we can't afford anything. Oh, well I'm reduced to dreaming and listening to our brief rain.

Some can never be rehabilitated

Our darling Buddy dog, at one time in his life, was a monster. Chewed everything mine, including an expensive signed by the photographer art book. I would refer to his as the "bastard with fur " and his breed being a "wire-haired terrorist." His only interest, not that he has a lot now, was finding a way to get into the trash. We'd had baby-locks on the cupboard with the can until we remodeled and have a wonderful slide out drawer; fooled him.

After my beloved retired seven years about Buddy became a model citizen. Imagine that, he was just lonely. He loves going camping and doesn't bolt out the door when it's opened. He is quite enjoyable even though he's not a cuddly dog. I do miss my Sheba, she was the best snuggler in dogdom. Buddy will sleep on the bed but faces the door waiting for some bungler to attack, he's ever vigilant.

Just to keep up the aforementioned title, ever so often, Buddy will pull something sneaky. Last week he must have felt no one was paying enough attention. My Aunt and I were heading for the Getty Villa and, out the door, I remembered my camera and returned to the house. There he was standing in the middle of the dining table his muzzle deep into the remnants of a cup of coffee I had carelessly left. He was so busy slurping up the coffee he didn't notice me and I was too shocked to say anything. Too bad I had not gotten my camera yet as that would have been a fantastic snap. He finally did look up and just turned, jumped to a chair, then the floor, and out the doggy door like nothing happened. Thanks, Buddy, I thought you'd lost all your spirit.

Starry mornings

The weather has been near perfect, still a bit windy but warm, not hot, and clear. If mornings in the spa were like this every day I'd never get anything done. Now the moon is almost half it is cutting down on the star viewing but still great.

For three days we were host to our darling 83 year-old aunt. She enjoyed her visit so and that's all that matters. Her husband of more than 50 years of marriage passed away two years ago and she will never get over it. It's true you can die of a broken heart.

One World-One Heart Event is closed. Winners will be announced tomorrow.

It's time for the One World-One Heart Event and I've almost missed it. Vacations have a way of making you forget everything. This is event is so much fun you just add a comment here on this blog to be entered to win five note cards. These are prints of my pastels and are 4 1/2 X 6 1/2 inches. Envelopes are included.

Giveaway Update: If I get 100 comments I'll give a second prize. This is last years lapel pin but I'll give something similar. It is handmade felt with embellishments.

To enter please include:

• Just click on "comments"
  
• add a link to your site, if you have one,
• or your e-mail address.
  
• Let me know if you are also participating with a giveaway.
  

Now just go to the host's site One World-One Heart and visit all the other participants. Right now there are almost 800 other crafty people participating. Have fun!


DEADLINE February 12th. I will randomly choose one name and let the lucky person know by e-mail or their blog.

Thanks for stopping by.

From El Rincon: Breakfast with the Godwit's

At sunrise the Pacific was flat with just a hint of morning mist hanging off the coast of Santa Cruz one of the five Channel Islands. I sat with my morning tea watching the shore birds dash around looking for breakfast. Marbled Godwits, Whimbrels, and Willets made up this early morning crowd. A wave comes in then retreats and they scurry down to the edge of the water to poke and prod the wet sand looking for sand crabs and small invertebrates. They usually get away before the next wave but sometimes the wave will wash over their slender heads as they come up with something particularly yummy and worth the cold splash. The Sanderlings, much small birds, run in a pack of ten or twenty and they rarely get wet. They perform a choreographed ballet dancing between the wet sand and water.

In front of a cresting wave a pelican glides effortlessly only inches from the water. Near sunset a dozen or so birds will glide single file for miles. I often wonder if they are looking in the clear water of the wave for fish swimming by. They also hunt fish from about twenty feet then plunge headfirst into the water resulting in a dramatic splash.

Beyond the breakers, small groups of Bottle-nosed Dolphins travel up and down the beach feeding on fish. There is a photo of dolphins riding a wave off Ventura but I've not seen it in the wild. I did see California Sea Lion in a wave snatching himself a large fish once. What a treat.

For other post about this lovely area click on the label "Rincon" at the bottom of this post.

AFK to celebrate 39 years

Last year we celebrated our anniversary at the beach so it seemed only natural we head back. To add a little spice we've planned a trip with our dear friends. This should be fun, we've traveled many times together and they are game for some short day trips--plus they love to "antique" and eat as much as we do--so we are expecting a pleasant getaway.

As we are watching the weather the forecast looks promising, though cold, it's 38 this morning. This is just a reminder it's winter because after the past two weeks of 80 degree temps here in SoCal it sort of makes one forget.

For dinner I've planned some outdoor cooking with my camp dutch oven if we find a nice level spot. Rain would be the only thing keeping me from trying this. I could post something interesting on our food blog, Peanut Butter Etouffee, but my camera died. Maybe someone else could take a snap it's not good to be a stranger at your own food blog. We'll also eat out as there are some great places just a short drive from El Rincon.

Sometimes the locals are right

There is a blogger from LA that I like to read, Chanfles. He lives in a small corner of Los Angeles, Lincoln Heights, kvetches--my word not his--like so many of us do, about what goes on in our community. He has a category "Shit I hate" and is funny. He's, among other things, a vegetarian in search of the perfect Huevos Rancheros and reports back when he finds the good ones as well as the not so good. His most recent food venture lead him to San Bernardino and stated he wasn't going back even if it was popular with the locals: sometimes the locals are wrong.

That story rang so true as my sister and I are foodies and while traveling together we try all sorts of restaurants. We even had one entire trip in search of the perfect tamale but ended up learning so much of the New Mexico cuisine I don't know if we decided. We did find posole, ah and don't forget the sopapillas.

One trip to the Southwest we were in search of some tasty Mexican food and after settling in at our hotel in Sedona asked the clerk if there was a good local place to satisfy us. There were directions and a full parking lot and a list to be added to for a wait so this all looked promising. Wrong. We thought, maybe the locals were Gringos because this wasn't hitting any bells with us.

Our next stop was Page, Arizona in the Northern part of the state. Tired from a full day of sightseeing we again asked a hotel clerk and she directed us to a restaurant within walking distance. Not to many in the joint but they had a bar which was now a big part of our criteria. With only one other table with customers they seated us on a large patio. I grimaced. What the hell, I'll have a hamburger but it smelled good with that gentle mix of lard and corn and the salsa was great. I had a good feeling in my gut, well, maybe it was just hunger but we stayed. I opted for Chili Verde, my benchmark in a good Mexican restaurant. We were so hungry by this point anything would do.

That turned out to be one of the best meals we'd had on our ten day vacation. So does that mean the locals were right? It didn't seem to matter that there weren't many customers so how do you actually find the good places? Luck, and the Kitchen Gods were happy with us that night.

How do you find good places when you are on the road? Do you hit the chain restaurants for something safe or are you adventurous?

The skin I'm in

Actinic Keratosis is a scary name for something only somewhat scary, skin pre-cancer. I'm just lucky, and I'm honest with that word, to only have these types of problems right now. I did have one basal and two squamous cell carcinomas removed so I get a good check-up twice a year.

My problem right now is I've had this dry patch on my upper lip frozen with liquid nitrogen three times and it still won't go away. So my darling dermatologist, he is darling, too, will re-try something; a horrible treatment that went somewhat awry last time. Last time I used this cream I got flu like symptoms and my lips swelled twice the size of Angelina Jolie. I was miserable. He says it has to be and I can do it slowing using a third of the dose.

As a warning to anyone younger than a boomer, SUNSCREEN. Buy buckets of the stuff and don't leave the house without wearing a lipstick or lip gloss that has an SPF of fifteen or better. Seems like all that lip gloss we wore in the 80s did quite a bit of harm to the old lips. Who knew? I suppose putting baby oil on and sunbathing until we were a crispy shade of brown didn't help either.

My President

For two terms I've longed to pen that phrase, My President and now, as of January 20, 2009, I can. I do feel in my entire heart that he is representing what I believe in; finally.

From the moment I heard his keynote speech at the 2004 Democratic Convention I knew he'd be the saving grace for America. It just took a bit longer to get him on the Capital steps swearing the oath of office.

Pride to be an American is what I felt for a few reasons. Pride in the system; I've always been an advocate of the power of your vote and quite angry when people say it doesn't matter. It does and Barack Obama proves that point. Proud of my daughter and her husband because they supported Obama from the very beginning and traveled to Washington, stood in the freezing cold for hours to be no closer than a few miles to watch the inauguration. I'll leave her blog for how that made them feel I know I was so proud they could believe in something so strongly. It was only twenty degrees for God's sake!

Time will tell how he does but I only beg that everyone gives him time. It took eight years to get us in the mess we're in so we can give him time to get us on the right track. Congratulations, Mr. President.

lil bird: on the wing

With the inauguration next week we are all a twitter here. Our own lil bird and her husband are traveling to the nation's capital to view some history and you can follow their antics on Twitter or her regular blog, Maltese Parakeet. Twitter allows herto publish from her cell phone so here's hoping we get many photos directly from the "goings on."

I'm truly jealous of them but will be thrilled to get them back and hear every word. I hope they remember and that it isn't all a blur.

Wind

So simple a word but can mean so much. It's the air that moves about us and out of us, sometimes. It can be a gentle breeze or something attuned to a hurricane. In my little corner of Southern California it is the bane of my existence. For thirty six years I've dealt with the winds, some years better than other but always a pain in the backside.

Our wind in the spring brings pollen from areas I'd never visit and my allergies can't do a dang thing about it. The fall, oh the fall, the hot Santa Ana wind comes sweeping off the desert to dry up what little moisture we have in the hillsides and makes us shiver at the thought of a wild fire. At the least it makes my front porch a depository for any loose trash in the neighborhood. Winter wind can bring anything. One year the '94 Northridge Earthquake. This winter it brought 85 degree days. I'll take the warm days but I am tired of the blowing.

Negative ions are odorless, tasteless, and invisible molecules that we inhale in abundance in certain environments. Water moving about creates negative ions. Beaches, waterfall, even your shower but the wind sucks the life out of them causes those little old ions to go positive. Positive is usually something good but in the case of ions it isn't. So here a little negativity is good but how to get it. There are a myriad of product for sale that produce negative ions. Oh so many crazy late night sales pitches but the best thing? Go get in the shower and let the water beat on you or sit on the beach and breath deeply. Some things are so simple, aren't they?

They didn't call him Tricky Dick for nuttin.

One can't watch the new movie, Frost/Nixon without drawing some lines to our current president. No fan of Nixon here but you almost feel a bit sorry for him. I said almost because you still had some insight into his denial since he felt it part of the presidential powers bestowed upon him. Respect for he job diminished with him and didn't recover. This is why I have hope with the incoming administration. Please, just bring some respect back to the job.

Humans are a compassionate lot, as a group, but will the American People somehow feel the same for Bush after he is gone? It might depend on what is said about his involvement in, his words, variety of mistakes. He is now saying some things did not go as planned. Ya think? In our life time we'll never know the truth. Hopefully, one of the "loyal to the group" will write a death-bed confession and then we'll know who's been controlling this country for the last eight years. Just how old is Wolfowitz?

Do go see Frost/Nixon before it slips into video. Frank Langella--who could forget his Dracula, pretty hot for 1979 but I digress--his performance as a beaten Nixon is spellbinding. Like driving by an accident, you can't look away, though it is painful to watch. Now my grandmother would have relished this part of the movie since she hated Nixon with a purple passion. She had two books beside her chair, the Holy Bible and Plain Speaking: An Oral Biography of Harry Truman; she could quote chapter and verse from both. She was none to found of Johnson, as she was sure he murdered Kennedy, until her nephew became the Johnson's Texas minister. Loyalties have a familial ties.

I'm looking for the original interviews on Netflix even though I lived through that era I don't remember watching the program. I did, on the other hand, watch too much of the Watergate hearings; who didn't. There is one thing my darling companion and I remembered, the country was glad to put it away. Hey, it was the '70s.

Just beachy

We did end up spending New Year's at our favorite camping place, Rincon Parkway. This little stretch of road is just outside the town of Ventura on the Pacific Ocean. Although this photo does illustrate the camping area is not representative of what the place actually looks like. I've never seen it so empty, ever. People who live local will come, park and pay on Wednesday and not show up until Friday evening to camp all weekend. Most of what we see these days are those huge diesel guys that we feel miniature next to.

If I stop and think about the camping area it's amazing why I love it so much. Let me try to describe it. Before the freeway opened a two-lane road ran parallel to the water. Between the west side of the road and the beach was space to park your car and on the east side of the road a high berm with rail tracks. A variety of passenger and freight trains travel on this line up and down the coast of California. This space is now designated for camping and most of the 127 spots are about 18 feet wide and close to 40 feet long.

When you pull in, depending on the width of your RV, you have a five feet no parking zone with a bike lane on the road side and about five feet of crumbling blacktop on the beach side. Cars and big trucks rumble by your spot at an alarming speed all hours of the day, and night. I shouldn't make it sound so attractive there are already too many campers. Past that large boulders help with beach erosion then, depending on the tide, a sandy beach and the million dollar view of the Pacific Ocean. Hook-ups? Nope, this $25 a day site is d-r-y.

The beach access can be difficult especially with a dog since you need to scramble over the boulders down to the sand. The height of the rocks varies and at many sites it's near impossible to navigate over the boulders so choose wisely. Once our site had great access and along with that came many visitors tramping through our five-foot front yard. I'm willing to share just knock the damn sand out of your shoes before you traipse across my rug.

So why is it always packed? The price has a lot to do with it and maybe because there are so few spots at the beach in Southern California but everyone I ask says, the view. You set up, get out a chair and sit down to watch. You're treated to Sea Lions and Bottle-nosed Dolphins playing and feeding in the surf and if you're lucky, the occasional blowhole spray from a migrating Gray Whale on it's way down to Baja to breed for the winter. Shore birds are too numerous to count most of the time and their antics will make anyone chuckle. Add to that the day-trip possibilities of Ojai, Cartpenteria, Ventura and Santa Barbara at for 25 bucks a night.

Wait, maybe I've said too much. Forget every thing I've said.

2009

With so many things happening this year, good and bad, I'm happy to say good-bye to 2008. Not that I believe Thursday morning will be any different that any other Thursday morning, it's just a formality. Maybe this Thursday will be a bit different. We are planning to go camping to the beach and I'd love to wake up on a brand new year at the Rincon, our favorite spot. A twenty-five dollar spot with a million-dollar view.

Twenty O (insert number here). I've never liked the sound of that but somehow, Twenty ten slips easier off the tongue.; I'll have to wait one more year.

Cheers, it's Christmas time

Do you ever wonder how we get through the holidays? Vodka? Not so much these days but at the House of Moon though my darling and I did have a glass of wine last night. Wine is so versatile. Summer time, it's a cooler with ice and fruit while Winter evening it warms your body. So it seems a little glass of Old Vine Zin is helping me get through the season.

Not that I have a lot to do this year. I've cut way back. My baking consisted of decorated sugar cookies and one batch of peanut brittle. These items will be given to family and friends as my darling and I have absolutely no willpower. None.

So with a little extra time I'm sitting here thinking of my best Christmas ever and honestly, it's difficult to find one. I've been fortunate to have wonderful family and friends around me at the holidays and all year long. When I was six Santa brought me a red firetruck pedal car that I thought was the best. It had wooden ladders and a bell. I have no idea what happened to it as a few years later we moved to California and sold most everything before we left.

Much older, my darling bought me a little stuffed bear we'd seen in an antique store weeks before Christmas. It looked exactly like one of the only toys I still have from my childhood only bigger. He went back to the store the next week and wrapped it himself. Over the years he's given me more expensive gifts but that one stands out in my heart.

We no longer give gifts but that is by my choice. We usually take a trip, or buy something for the two of us and that's fine with me. You see, my darling husband, quite regularly, surprises me with flowers for no good reason other than to see me smile. I'll take those types of gifts any day.

Our tiny family will be celebrating together, all seven of us, and that will be the best present this year!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

My downward facing dog is biting my ass

No, I did not get a new dog. Downward Facing Dog is a Yoga pose and I've added a photo of someone, other than me, doing it correctly. You see, this is one of those positions that is difficult for me to do correctly. Try as I might I'm still up on my tippy-toes.



Come to think of it I think the only one I can actually do semi-correctly is Child's Pose, though yet again, I can't seem to get my head to the ground. I'm thinking Yogi-masters have no boobs to get in the way. My instructor said to give it time, and I will since I'm way too much of a wimp to participate in the outdoor water aerobics class. Winter has finally come to Southern California and I don't care how much they heat the pool you still have to get out. Like I said, major in the wimp army, here.

Now my darling daughter has been Yoging around for a number of years and I never saw what she liked about it. Yes, now I'm a true believer. It is difficult but not impossible and quite a good stretching workout. Plus I feeling I'm strengthening some muscles and that's what us old broads need. Stronger "core" muscles keeps us from tipping over as we get older and I certainly don't want to do anymore falling. Let's not forget how much trouble my last tumble caused.

They do name their poses some odd but descriptive names: Tree, Cobra, Wind Relieving. Wind? Like the wind gently blowing your willowy tree like limbs around? No, it's the first thing you thought of. Get the wind out your body! Luckily we've never done this pose and thank you, the last thing I want to hear is the person next to me passing gas. Decorum, please.

There are two Yoga classes I attend and I love that each teacher has a different workout. Friday is what you'd think of as classic Yoga. The teacher dims the lights and we go through a number of poses and she gives the proper names. Then, at the end, she gives us my favorite, the Corpse and yes, you lay there like a dead body and relax. We even end the workout sitting cross-legged saying OOOOOOooooooommmmmmm.

Now Saturday morning, it's what I call Bootcamp Yoga. Just a little more strenuous stretching and faster. This wakes you up because it's at 6:45 am. and the teacher is relentless. I've noticed quite a bit more groaning in that class but I'm trying not to miss it because I come out feeling ready to get moving. I wish she taught this early every morning.

My generation, what ever you do as a workout regimen try a good set of Yoga stretches to start your day and maybe get rid of a little gas.

Only the lucky need apply

Monday started a week of calling a phone number each night to see if I needed to appear the next morning for jury duty. Yes, I remember I just finished four-plus month stint with the Grand Jury. It should have been six months but we got off for good behavior. I went as far as Monday night before getting the news, do come 37 miles and say, why don't you bring a good book with you. I should have packed a lunch the cafe was hideous.

Tuesday morning, before the orientation video was over, my name was called for a panel. "Go to the courtroom, and be quick about it. The judge doesn't like to be kept waiting." Unfortunately, he doesn't mind keeping jurors waiting and we sat for twenty minutes outside his court.

"This trial will be easy, two days and you're already here which leaves one more day for the trial. If I excuse you, you'll go back to the bullpen, likely get selected for a month long murder case. So, let's get started, said the judge." I was picked, interviewed, and accepted and he was correct; it only last two days.

To be honest, I wasn't troubled by this except for the fact I missed a day at the Getty. I'd never had the opportunity to decide guilt or innocence so it sounded interesting. This is your civic duty to serve and I'd like someone impartial if I ever have to go to trial.

The case was a young couple, with an ambulance chasing attorney and two sketchy doctors, suing for damages from an automobile accident three years ago. I'd like the Grand Jury to investigate these doctors, please. The big question for everyone deliberating: who only goes to the doctor once and the chiropractor six months? They never had a follow-up with the doctor, who was provided by the attorney, and had a number of MRIs that showed no damage. They even stated they both were fine.

Pain and suffering is a difficult to award. Some felt nothing while other felt they should get more. I was of the opinion the accident was not their fault. They did have the aggravation that comes with an soft tissue injuries and I'm sure the accident was scary. I never want to see my airbag deploy. The jury awarded them a much smaller amount than they asked for and I would have loved to be in the conversation with them and the attorney. The woman had quite a scowl when we walked out of the courtroom.

Cases such as these, and the woman who sued our insurance company, are opportunistic and down right dishonest and I was happy my fellow jurors felt the same was as I did. Now you may say, because we were sued, I had a grudge; far from that. As I heard about the accident I wanted this couple to get everything they needed to heal, which they did. But as the case progressed it was evident they went overboard on the extent of injuries they suffered and I can't help but think the attorney was behind this. On all the bills in evidence the attorney's name was under "responsible for bills".

I know there are accidents that do need an attorney because there are real and serious injuries but this wasn't one of them.

A rather Gay musical

This is so hysterical I had to watch it twice.

Get over yourselves, people.

I was told by a friend of the marriage of a gay co-worker of mine. I'd knew and worked with this young girl and she was sweet and smart and quite professional at her job. It wasn't until she introduced me to her partner did I realize she was gay. Guess what, she was still sweet and smart and professional. She and her partner had been together for a long time living as a couple. I was thrilled they had the chance to be married. Now with Prop 8 winning I'm not sure what will happen. What a shame!

Crikey

Movie reviews should be left to the professionals. I do read them sometimes but what get's me to choke up eight bucks are the principals in the film or a recommendation from a trusted friend. Some I trust more than others. I do enjoy sitting in a large movie theater with other people watching the big screen. It's the communal story telling that brings me to the campfire.

For me to recommend a movie it doesn't have to be perfect, what is these days, but it needs to be entertaining. Australia, though way too long, did give me eight dollars worth of entertainment. If you can sit through this very long movie it does have some moments. It seems like a good old fashion western with good guys, and bad guys and Hugh Jackman.

It does touch on a horrible part of Australian history that, for the good of the child, removed Aboriginal children from their homes to "study" at a mission school. If you've seen Rabbit Proof Fence you'll know what their Stolen Generations went through. America was no better with removing our Native American children from the reservations to ship them off to boarding schools to learn the "American" ways. That meant death to their culture.

What I liked:

• Hugh Jackman
• the precious little Nullah
• Hugh Jackman without a shirt
• the cinematography
• Hugh Jackman in a tux

What I didn't like:

• Too much CGI for the broad cattle stampede (way too fake)
• Too long
• Not enough Hugh Jackman
• Brian Brown's character was not developed, sadly. Hell, they had the time.

So if you are in need of seeing Hugh Jackman or maybe Nicole Kidman and you can sit for 165 minutes break loose with eight bucks and give it a try. I'd be interested in your review.

File this under No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The day before Thanksgiving at the Getty last year was very busy. We could have used a few extra docents. I knew I'd be working from 1:30 - 5:30 so when the call for help came in I offered to come in at 10 and work all day. Rain dampened more than the streets resulting in a less than normal crowd. Not a problem, I gave two tours, saw an exhibit I'd been meaning to get to and had a nice lunch with friends; my glass is always half-full.

My generous friends covered my last half-hour so I could catch an earlier bus and I was at the northbound stop by 5:00. Great, it will take the bus 40 minutes to the Van Nuys Metrolink station and I'll get the train that gets into Simi by 7:00. That's when I normally get home on Wednesday evenings.

After I'd waited an hour for my bus--way too long--I noticed two of my buses go by on the freeway. Since the southbound bus goes to Westwood, turns around to become the northbound bus, I went back across the street to find out what was going on. The bus driver said the traffic was a nightmare because of an accident and I could ride with him until he turned around and came back. He'd then get on the freeway at Montana.

When I saw the traffic on Sunset I got off at Belagio and got back on the northbound bus only to inch along Sunset back to the Montana on-ramp. By this time I'd missed my last train home so I took the bus to Topanga Plaza rather than Van Nuys, much closer for my beloved to pick me up. I had an umbrella but it was too cold for my lightweight coat so by the time he came I was chilled to the bone. I finally got home at 9:30. I should have been home by 7:00.

Now the odd thing this morning, I couldn't find one word of the accident that caused all this mess. Silly me, I took the bus to avoid the traffic mess, ha!

With all of this, my glass is still half-full; though a bit water-logged. We had our family Thanksgiving last Saturday so I had no cooking to do today and could sleep in. Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Cats, go figure

I've never owned a cat so this is quite amazing to me. Dogs can be funny, too but cats seem to have some strange ideas and act on them.

I love LA

For years my mom had a bridal shop in Thousand Oaks and most of her business was custom so that meant frequent trips to the Garment District in downtown Los Angeles. Since she didn't drive I would take her down during the week to buy fabric, sewing supplies, and whatever else she needed to send those brides, smiling, down the aisle. My daughter and sister were frequent flyers on these journeys and the prize for everyone one was a trip to Olivera Street for lunch.

Saturday the three of us, daughter lil bird, sister Doodles and I made the journey one more time. Lil bird heads down to that area quite often to either visit the flower market on Wall Street or Michael Levine's, a great fabric store. Walking in brought back so many memories it was hard not to see a portion of my life whiz by.

We also visited some bead stores so lil bird could find the goodies to build her aunt a necklace. She's gotten quite talented in making jewelry. The other mission was to find supplies for a crafty little project these two had been working on.

ML's is on Maple, as is a variey of small "jobbers" selling end lots of fabric, shoes, clothes, and just about anything else you'd want. By 10:oo am the street was packed with weekend shoppers with children in tow. Street vendors were cooking up their fare on makeshift stoves and though it smelled delicious we were saving our appetites for Phillipe's. Though that bowl of posole that passed us made us stop and inquire where it could be purchased.

The whole mood of the area was festive with music blaring from some stores and people chatting, in a variety of languages, and brightly colored merchandise pushed almost to the edge of the sidewalk. It was a feast for your senses.

We all decided we need some sitdown food so got the car and headed towards Chinatown. I do know this area and headed for Main St forgetting there was a planned march swirling around the protest of Prop 8 passing making it illegal for same sex to marry in California. Try as we did we could not get close to Phillipe's and after an hour of gridlocked traffic we headed home.

Why do we have a law to keep California taxpayers from getting married in this state? Why are we letting a church, any church, tell us what laws to have? Our founding fathers made sure there was a separation of church and state, what happened to that?

Keep bailing I think we're about to drown

Bail out the Big Three? Why? What have they done for the American consumer other than create gas guzzling cars no one needs. In 2002 we looked for an American made hybrid vehicle. We talked to Ford and Chevy and when do you suppose they would have one on the market and what were we told? Ah, we haven't got the bugs worked out, yet. Yet? Asian markets not only had the bugs worked out, they had them stomped into the ground. In 2003 we gave up and bought the Honda Hybrid.

We are now standing on the brink of a crisis in this country and the automakers are begging for their lives. Where were they when we wanted help with reducing our oil consumption or getting a handle on air pollution? I know where they were, those fat-cat bastards were spending their profits in huge salaries for their execs and not thinking about the future of this country. Their business model for making and selling cars isn't in step with the 21st century and keeping them afloat will only drag us down with them. Are we not still a free-market economy?

It is so true

There is really so much to say about last night but I do need to collect my thoughts. We invited sister and brother-outlaw over for dinner and to watch the returns. We also asked a friend to join us for dessert, her husband would be gone and I thought it would be fun to watch all the goings-on with other folks. Like minded folks such as us.

Now I'd planned this would not be settled until somewhere around midnight and I also was hesitant about the outcome. Boy was I wrong. The polls closed in California and immediately they announced Obama the winner. The mood was ebullient, cheerful and full of energy. When I called our daughter she was screaming, "Is it true?" Yes, lil bird, this is true, so very true.

When I talked of why I was voting for Obama it was never for the fact he was a black man. That never played into my decision. Just like I didn't vote for Hillary because she was a woman. I voted for the person that would give me the most change from what we have and deep in my heart I know it's him. When he spoke last night it gave me chills and made me feel prouder to be an American than I have in eight years. Made me feel like we can do anything. Economy in the toilet? Sure but we are moving on.

Does this mean the evil presidency of George Bush is over? Nope, not yet. Look what they have in store for us now. When will it end?

Whew!

Finally, a change!

Election 2008: my Voting Parlor

Thinking of long lines at the voting parlor my darling companion and I voted at 8:00 am. Our parlor is at the neighborhood grammar school a short walk away and we would have walked if the weather would have been better. There was rain on and off last night and the skies look threatening so we drove.

As we were walking from the car a woman came up to me to give me a No on 8 fliers. I told her to save it as both of us were voting no already. We chatted a bit about the outcome or whether this very Republican town we live in would vote it down. I asked her about people's tempers on this hot-button topic and said she told me about one man this morning who said "I voted against you!" And she replied, "On this issue yes, but we voted on a lot of things this morning and I bet we agreed on some of those issues." Love that answer.

There was a line for the second half of the alphabet but husband and I just walked up to our section with no wait. I believe after work hours will be more hectic but that shouldn't deter anyone, hopefully. Being in California we feel things are decided before we even get out to vote but I take voting seriously and want my counted. You never know how close it will be.

Your vote counts!

The following is a quote from ABC news blog.

"Obama was not yet in the Senate when Congress voted to authorize the use of force in the fall of 2002. But he spoke out against it as a Senate candidate that year."

Obama came out against the war at the same time, and for the same reasons, I felt it was wrong. We needed strength in Afghanistan, that's where the terrorists were. The witch hunt to Iraq was Cheney, Wolfowitz and the other war criminals. Wolfowitz was the mastermind behind the first Gulf War and for some reason, couldn't wait to go back and finish Iraq off.

Before we went into Iraq someone told me the administration didn't care what or why just wanted to cause unrest in that part of the world. Could it have been that simple? I thought them crazy for that statement but now think they could not have been more right.

So if I only had one reason, I have many more but this one reason--the quote above--is enough for me to desire Obama to be our next president. I hope you will make your voting decision based on the facts; FactCheck.org is priceless in a time of indecision.

Princess Pooh?

Cleverly disguised as Winnie the Pooh, our princess paid us a visit Halloween night. She was not real sure about all this and had just woke up from a nap, to boot.

She did eventually get happier but I'd love to know what was going through that little brain when we took her to the neighbors house complete with scary music and flashing lights. She never lost sight of mom and dad but really scrutinized all the decorations and people in costumes.

We loved Mommy and Daddy for bringing her by to show off her costume.

After they left we had a stream of little, and not so little, trick or treaters come to our door. One tyke, so adorable I had to comment on his costume, left the door yelling, "Hey, her liked my dinosaur and look what she gave me!" I'm always so pleased when the kids say thanks and most this year said, Happy Halloween.

Her had a good time, too.