Blue skies, Cajun shrimp toes

Dec. 23, 2009

The fog has left the Valley…yes! The drippy gray of the fog-shrouded Valley winters can get on my nerves. I put up with it because in my heart the fog and cold balance our glorious March-October unending sunny blue skies -- but it can be freaky to know the sun is shining five or 10 miles from our house while we are “socked in.”

So it is with real joy that Taj and I have enjoyed two days of walks with sparkly blue skies and sun over our heads. The happy boy worked up a sweat of sorts, and had to cool down in a random puddle on Olive Tree Lane, which left him grubby and smelly. A quick trip to PetCo for their doggie $22 bath-only special (no dry) helped; his feet are dirty again because we have to get out and do things – Frisbee games and walks rule in our world.

Yesterday I stopped at the little "Y2K" manicure salon in South Davis for a very reasonable deluxe pedicure that includs a green bath salts leg rub followed by a blue masque, all of which are guaranteed to smooth off flaking winter skin. My finishing touch was “Cajun Shrimp” nail polish on the toes, covered with a gold sparkly finish.

Sun or fog, Taj and I are ready to party!

Narration opens window to Mongolia

Dec. 12, 2009

I finished two days of recording the narration for an online course on Remote Sensing, the cool technology behind Google Earth and other clever ways of figuring out what’s happening on this amazing planet. It was great fun working with Cody, the young man who wrote the script and is the technological wizard behind the setup, recording and online presentation.

We tried a little “dueling banjos” style to make the useful but sometimes dry information easier to listen to and understand. It was almost effortless, as Cody is confident and cheerful and I found it enjoyable to match his mood.

I always learn more than I expect from new things – the narration project has been a window into, of all places, Mongolia.

Cody is actually the link. He was trained as an agronomist and range specialist, a natural outgrowth of his interests and his life, which is split between the grasslands of Mongolia and a family livestock ranch in Eastern Oregon. His dad, a range management specialist, has worked off-and-on in Mongolia for two decades, using that relatively unchanged range-dependent country as a chance to see what the United States and many other areas of the world were like before the incredible changes of the last century. Cody has been flying back and forth to Mongolia between his work assignments, steadily putting together movies about the land and people but also about the way people who study and work in that country are changed by what they see.

Learning about Cody’s work has been a terrific outgrowth of this voice project. Take a look at some of his work here, at his Autonomy Productions website: http://www.autonomyproductions.com/Out_of_the_past/index.htm.

The photo I uploaded here is of a Mongolian village I found online, taken by G. Berger.

Christo - we have Charlie!

December 3, 2009

Today is my half-birthday. To celebrate, Anne and I, Charlie and Taj drove to the edge of the Putah Creek Reserve and started our walk there. We walked west into Solano County to see a spot Anne thought would be great for one of Charlie’s outdoor clay slip public art set-ups – under the Pedrick Road overcrossing.

It was a beautiful day, the dog loved racing in and out of the creek, and the under-overpass graffiti was colorful and somehow just right. Turns out, the site wasn’t quite what Char had in mind – he loved doing his “performance art” at the Lake Berryessa dam area and in Southern California, too, but this was a little different. Not the spot for Char's art right now – but it was just the site for our outing.

Happy half birthday to me, another glorious day for all of us.

And it's December again...

Dec. 2, 2009

Taj and I spent part of the first day of the last month of 2009 down at the Putah Creek Reserve. It makes a nice walk from our house - about 2 miles. Not a lot of water in the creek yet, but it was still and lovely. The freezing cold of the morning had turned warm; I had shed the sweat shirt and gloves by the time we hit the creek. Taj, ever alert, listened to the critters.

In the evening, Alan testified at the City Council about the poorly prepared company that was trying to spring a cell phone tower on Village Homes, among other locations in town. He's very articulate and I was proud he represented our community. Davis isn't a good place for a utility to try to surprise neighbors with a 41-foot tower, and Village Homes is probably the last development I'd pick to try to slip something over on the residents -- and this utility and contractor was hoping to put the first tower on Elaine Fingerett and Alan Hastings front lawn area! Not too smart...

Josh is home from Eastern Europe, and his first stop after dropping his bags off at home was to visit Grandma followed by a trip to the ocean for a nice surf session.

Maybe now I can sleep!

Windy night after best bird…

November 27, 2009

The bird was delicious, and so were all the other dishes, so everyone, including the vegetarians, were sated and happy. Of special note were the pies – pumpkin (one made with wheat flour, non-hydrogenated shortening, the other more “traditional”) and pecan made by my sisters-in-law Lorene and Pam, and the apple pies made by Alan’s mother Alice. Wow, we’ve been eating them for breakfast. The sweet potatoes were the BEST ever – Alan tried a recipe with fresh oranges, too, and topped them with pecans he had harvested right here in Village Homes and shelled.

And then there was the “chrain” made by my Uncle Davie - a potent potion of horseradish, vinegar, sugar and a little grated beet for color. Pam also made the rolls and ambrosia salad. Alan and I made the stuffing, green beans, peas-and-onions and veggie trays, which worked well this year in place of a green salad. Davie rightly suggested the veggie trays instead of a salad because the salads tend to get wilted. “Wilt not” in this house!

My personal delight was the fact that both Mom and Davie made it up from Santa Monica and Beverly Hills. April and Gary were responsible for that – no mean feat to get two post-87-year-olds 400 miles north. The cold weather really surprised them, even though it’s not horrendous (40 degrees at night, and up to 65 mid-day) and they knew it was coming. It’s just different in Northern California compared to Southern California. They both delighted in the crispy weather when they were wearing enough sweaters.

Davie, April, Gary and Jeff stayed in our friend and neighbor Virginia Thigpen’s house. Now that is a special vacation in itself.

Off to bed!

[That's Uncle Davie smiling in our comfortable chair, with my father-in-law Fred behind the plant.]

Through my eyes

Nov. 25, 2009

Sometimes happiness is simply reflected in my eyes. I am grateful for so much.

My mom, Saralee Konigsberg Halprin, in my house, thoroughly enjoying my (freshly tuned) Yamaha upright. Thrilling 1 minute video courtesy my new phone. As my mom’s mother Anne would have said, “America, it’s wonderful!”
video-2009-11-24-16-49-12

Unbelievable red red flaming maple trees at Shanghai Bend on the Feather River last week right where the levee broke in 1955 on our M.A. Halprin Ranch.

Taj playing in the Feather River at Shanghai Bend.

World Diabetes Day at the California State Capitol building in Sacramento--blue lights lit up the Capitol and we gathered under a blue balloon arch. We’re raising awareness (& research funds!) to cure this stupid disease so my Julia can throw away the needles

Lucky 13th brings crimson & solar

Nov. 13, 2009 – Friday the 13th

I remember when I was going into labor with Josh on May 12, I said to Alan, “I hope he’s born tonight so his birthday isn’t the 13.”

Alan said, “What’s wrong with the 13th?” and I suddenly remembered his birthday is December 13th. That’s when I started loving the Number 13. I have a thing about numbers and colors and especially birthdays, and Alan’s comment started another thread in my odd brain weavings of families, numbers, dates and colors. Sometimes I even wish Josh HAD been born on the 13th, so everyone in our family would have a Prime Number of their own (mine is 3, Julia’s is 31). And it would have cemented our “3” and “!” number lock.

So I love Friday the 13th. Today was a solar 13th for us – the guys from Yes! Solar Solutions started the installation of our photovoltaic system on the roof of our house that will help us be energy independent. Our little 2.8 kW (4 hp) “solar system” will produce all of our electric energy for most months out of the year.

One the way to and from Pilates today I got a good look at the flaming leaves of autumn. Beautiful pepper trees on the bike path have burst into crimson.

Photos: Friday the 13th crimson; Solar dog & Frisbee help the Yes! guys.

Atomic thoughts

Monday, Nov. 9, 2009

Pilates, walks, swimming, biking, letters, email, decluttering, blogging, and thinking – that’s how I’m filling my days now. When I bounded into the Pilates mat class at Physical Edge this morning, messy as all get out, packing enough crap to make “my spot” on the studio floor look like a camp site, my friend Jon Watterson said, “You are a poster child for retirement! It really agrees with you.” Made my day, let me tell you.

A big difference in me these days is that each action, activity, thought and even the things I see with my eyes are more separate, more deliberate. I’m not sure how, but each action seems to be broken down to its atomic parts: I pulled over on my bike near the campus HR office to paw through my bag and check my phone calendar to see if I was missing a retiree presentation on benefits. I could see each Kleenex in my bag, I noticed the peeling plastic coating on the bike basket liner, and the people biking by were individuals to my eyes. I found the phone and saw that, sure enough, the retiree meeting had started nine minutes before at the other end of campus. I resigned myself to signing up for another session of the same presentation (will I really go?), and finished the ride home. I love riding by the trees with changing leaf colors that line the bike path from the east to the west side of campus. I think they are pepper trees like the one in our common area.

I saw my friend Susy Arriaga and her reddish-brown border collie Brodie in the fields near the path; they were finishing their walk and I found out how to get to the campus sheep barns from Susy. Had to take Taj on a walk after seeing them. We didn’t make it to the sheep barns but instead made the rounds of interesting UC Davis ag fields and I got photos of the group of amazing chestnut trees (are six trees an orchard?), and some luscious fat olives. Each day I feel blessed to live here.

[Top photo: Chestnut nestled in sticker-covered pod. Bottom photo: Olives ripening.]

Style makes the world go round

Nov. 4, 2009

Today my Great Aunt Ida Goldberg would have been 109. (O.K., yesterday - I wrote this at 11:30 p.m.) Don’t know why, but I enjoy clicking off birth dates in my head, and hers was a good one – November 4, 1900. She was such a talented woman – could design anything, from apparel to picture frames, hats and clothes dryers. She was known as “Ida of Hollywood” at one point in her career. She was a freelance pattern designer and sold patterns to firms like Butterick, McCall's, Simplicity and Vogue. I saw letters she wrote to the companies and the original patterns carefully cut out and stored in custom envelopes she made. I still have several of her “cloche” style hats, and a box of feathers she used to decorate women’s hats. She was clever in the most interesting, useful and delightful sense of the word – I still have coasters she made out of the round, flat, tin lids of cottage cheese containers covered with cartoons from the New Yorker magazine. She varnished the lids to make them waterproof, and I still use and enjoy them today. She folded colored cardboard from tissue boxes into tiny stands for postcards or photos, two of which adorn my dresser.

Ida was my father’s mother’s half-sister; they had different mothers but the same father. My grandmother used her mother’s last name, Lamport. Ida’s mother left her for several years in the Jewish orphanage in New Orleans where she learned to sew. Eventually she made her way to New York where she was part of the arts community, and I’m guessing worked in the garment district.


Her style reminds me of Chris Gardner, who Alan and I heard tonight at the Mondavi Center. Gardner’s autobiography, The Pursuit of Happyness, inspired a film of the same name. The book and film detail his rise from a childhood of poverty and abuse to a successful career on Wall Street, with a pivotal year when he trained as a stockbroker and took care of his 14-month old son while homeless. He’s a charming and interesting man, about my age, who urges people to be dogged about their dreams. Some of his fierce philosophy seemed simplistic, but I could feel his hard work and rough life just below the surface. His real life authenticated his message and I found myself inspired and energized. Tonight he reached out to a young woman whose voice broke as she asked what to say to her parents who are struggling. Gardner is also a funny and adept speaker and his personal style was captivating – he was wearing a blue-grey suit with a long jacket and a blue and white striped shirt open at the collar, with a handkerchief that matched in the jacket pocket; I could see the spring green jacket lining and wanted to reach out and feel it (and get one for Alan).

Yesterday I hosted two friends from the university, Pam Kan-Rice and Brenda Dawson, both writers and much more. Pam is the assistant director of news and information outreach for the UC Agriculture and Natural Resources and has worked with communication people like me up and down the state for the last few years; it’s hard to know how things will be organized as the system is forced to downsize. Brenda is the communications coordinator of the UC Small Farm Program and Center, and will be officially laid off January 1 because the Small Farm Program will be eliminated. (I am hopeful that the wonderful work of the Small Farm Program will be absorbed by other UC programs, perhaps even my former Agricultural Sustainability Institute at UC Davis.) These two women, in different ways, made my work enjoyable. They are both funny and talented and were happy to share their insights and skills with me.

Brenda is at the beginning of her career and can look in many directions; Pam recently earned an MBA degree – would you call that “armed and dangerous”? The combination of their great humor, good laughs and fine personal style make them, what, unbeatable? I never realized that Pam was short until I noticed how tall her shoe heels tend to be. She favors brilliant colors like hot pink and turquoise and is fun to just look at. Brenda’s twinkle comes through in her infectious laugh and the way she celebrates. Last Halloween she memorably dressed as Holly Golightly from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” in a little black dress with full-length white gloves. Style raises the spirits and adds energy to our souls. Viva, baby!

Eat well, save the world = my kind of diet

Nov. 2, 2009

Well, it’s a Low Carbon Diet, and food is not the only focus. I joined a team of 15 or so valiant Village Homes residents and folks who live nearby to figure out how each of us can reduce the carbon we use in our homes and lives. We’re part of a larger Davis city effort, which is part of a big state drive.

The best way to start meetings, and this is our fourth, is to eat well. Derek and Carl are on the team and they live in Sunwise Co-op in Village Homes, which is an offshoot of the original Davis Student Co-op that was once home to my sister April. Small world.

OK, the menu tonight was amazing. It was Derek and [Andy!] Carl’s turn to cook anyway, so they invited our team to eat dinner with the Sunwise gang. Three of us took them up on the offer: me, Elizabeth Thigpen Hunt, our amazing team leader (and chef extraordinaire), and Virginia Thigpen, Lizzy’s mama and ground-breaking Davis green builder for more than 30 years. We thoroughly enjoyed the sweet potato soup with avocado, cilantro, tortilla chips and grated cheddar toppings, and the yummy lentil stew that was based on a Moroccan dish Derek said ended in “-ade.” The co-op garden is still producing terrific lettuce and other greens and the salad with walnuts, lettuce, cranberries and raisins was fabulous.

Oh, yeah – we also shared our carbon-reduction recipes for our homes and learned a few new things from each other. Virginia and Elizabeth gave their refrigerator a good workout today with a refrigerator coil brush they got at the hardware store; I’ve brought it home to give it a try. Derek and Carl have been experimenting with turning the gas pilots on their big stove off, and they’ve analyzed the co-op trash with some interesting findings: a good percentage of their trash is the aseptic cardboard containers for soy milk. They’re thinking of going to the refrigerated larger containers of soy milk or making their own almond milk. At the last meeting, which I missed, they talked about how separating all their trash carefully and composting the damp items allows them to put dry trash in a container without any bag (plastic or paper). An idea worth trying.

We’re working on details about our individual home and life carbon footprints, and will probably meet again for a celebration. I’ll be talking to Alan to set a personal home goal for carbon reduction, and dear sweet Lizzy will hold us to the fire.

I’m falling asleep at the wheel, so enjoy these photos of some of our team members with the Sunwise Co-op gang, the lentil stew, sweet potato soup, and the wonderful fresh salad.

Spirits to the right of me, spirits to the left

Nov. 1, 2009

Halloween started well with a wild swim workout at Civic Pool – goofy workout instructions from Coach Stu make the hour+ zip by. There’s no way I could stay in a pool that long by myself and without direction. When I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing – counting lengths, breaths, arm strokes, pool buoy position – it becomes meditative as I block out the rest of the world. It is a spirit-soother like none other for me.

The locker room is the ultimate status/age/body “flattener” – we are just women with wet hair and skin. My purple-haired shrunken head earrings that April bought me years ago (“I’d never wear them, but I knew you would”) always bring a smile, both to me and observers. Raises the spirits!

I zipped over to the farmers market with my shopping cart that has extended handles – Josh did that for me, and painted it red, as a Hanukkah gift one year. All was fall glorious and Halloween-cheerful until I got to the Good Humus stand, and Annie Main came toward me, son Zach in tow. I could see tears were running down her face, which was contorted in sorrow.

“Did someone die?” was the first thing out of my mouth. “Chè,” she said. “Chè Barnes was in the Coast Guard plane that went down during a rescue last night.” We hugged. “He was like one of my kids,” Annie wept. Zach hugged me, too. Chè Barnes and his twin Noah, 35, were the oldest of the four Barnes/Barsotti boys, who run Capay Fruits and Vegetables (farmfreshtoyou.com) in our gorgeous Capay Valley. Their parents Martin Barnes and the late Kathy Barsotti started the small farm 33 years ago, and now the boys have more than 6,000 weekly subscribers to their vegetable and fruit boxes throughout the state. Chè always loved flying and preferred the Coast Guard to working on the farm, but he was still part of the operation and was close to his three brothers and their families.

Zach talked on about Chè, and the weekly dinners he and his fiancée Nicole shared with him and his girlfriend Kelly. He said they thought of canceling their Halloween party later in the day, but Chè’s sister-in-law Moyra hoped they wouldn’t.

I finished the market in a different mood, but thought of the Barnes/Barsotti boys’ love of local organic farming and the way it has brightened the economy and the health of the region, and celebrated by cruising the annual school gardens fundraiser “Avenue of the Scarecrows.” I bought a scarecrow made by second graders at Marguerite Montgomery Elementary School; the hilarious child vampire-on-a-stake is propped against the palm tree in front of our house.

After treating 25 small trick-or-treaters at our house, we headed to Esparto to Zach and Nicole’s new house and their Halloween party – Alan in his “alien escaping from his chest” t-shirt, me in my purple shrunken head earrings, and dog Taj in his “Witch and Famous” t-shirt and purple wizard cap. Annie and Jeff pulled themselves together enough to join the group of young firefighters, Zach’s co-workers, and us, and we enjoyed each others company, talking about Chè and his brothers.

May his vibrant spirit and the spirit of the youthful energy he represents always move us.

Bless this daily walk

Oct. 26, 2009

On one of her visits to Davis a few years ago, my friend Judi and I biked from our house to my office across the nearby UC Davis fields. We crossed a dirt field road to Olive Tree Lane, lined with the olive trees that were planted for beauty but are now the source of gourmet olive oils sold by the university. Judi’s absolute delight in the scenery was a sweet reminder to me of the beauty of my daily commute.

Lately my post-UCD work life has included a walk (or sometimes even two) through the fields and Olive Tree Lane with Taj. Some days I treasure each smell and sight, others I am simply glad to have a peaceful place to walk. And occasionally, I am bored by the quiet.

Today yielded one of my favorite seasonal phenomena : the sticky trailing silk released by a variety of balloon spider. Taj and I found the long threads trailing across Olive Tree Lane – so perfect for October and Halloween. The spiders weave the silk that emerges from their abdomens, spin it out and catch an updraft of wind to travel. After they land they release the thread, which drifts away. Many a time I have biked smack-dab into trailing threads, which cling and stick to my face hands and clothing like chewing gum or paper charged with static electricity.

We walked through a field near my former office; a young walnut orchard again took me back years to Sutter County and Dad, the farm, and walnut harvest. Dozens, no hundreds of squirrels chippered at each other and ran from hole to hole in the orchard floor. Taj quivered with excitement, but knew he probably couldn’t catch them and settled for sticking his nose into the squirrel and gopher holes that dot the fields. A few months ago he actually did catch one, but I think it was injured or ill before he got to it. Today a few hawks drifted above, but aggressive crows, emboldened by their number, heckled the larger hawks, which flew to other fields.

It startles me how much more I am seeing of the roads and fields I walked or rode almost every day for the 14 years my office was in the west campus fields.

[I really will figure out how to place/caption images. In the meantime, from the top images are: Taj walking down the lane as a jogger comes toward us, a young walnut orchard, close-up of the sticky spider threads, and threads streaming off the campus airport fence. Ciao.]

Hawks, crash, peonies

October 25, 2009

Walked to Putah Creek Reserve with Taj this morning on a blustery warm fall day in Davis. Taj and I aren’t so good at the “loose lead” walking, and the wind was no help. On the way home, I saw soaring red hawks, gliding and diving over the UC Davis vineyards. The first one reminded me of Dad enjoying raptors flying over the farm and Feather River banks. I had a fantasy that the hawk was Dad, but realized it sounded in my head like Neal Thayer’s fake laid-back New Zealand traveler dude voice. So I just enjoyed the hawk. Bird of prey wing tips must be the inspiration for the design of some jet plane wings – the slightly upward tip at the end, the sleek line.

Airplanes at the UC Davis airport bordering the vineyard don’t look sleek; they seem more like chubby cheerful toy planes.

We transplanted the peony root clump I bought from Dianne Madison at the farmers market this afternoon. She reminded me to plant it bud tips up, and to cover it with a maximum of two inches of soil. Six hours of daily sun is best for peonies. Not sure what color these will be; the Madisons sell palest pink, brilliant magenta and white peonies. The flowers are so beautiful; now I understand the inspiration for the Chinese and Japanese ceramics and paintings highlighting their beauty. They really do look too good to be true.

I’m calming down after four days with Mom in Santa Monica. A week ago she was in an automobile accident and broke her left arm/wrist and totaled her car. She was so shocked and angry at first, but by mid-week she was practicing the piano with her left arm in the Velcro cast (my sister April says she played with her right hand alone the day after the crash). She had also come to the conclusion that her driving days are behind her. I am relieved, and interestingly, I think she is relieved, too.

After doing errands in a borrowed car for almost a week for her, I was reminded how hard it is to drive there. Our friend Elizabeth was in Tulsa recently and said that although Tulsa has as many people and as much traffic as Santa Monica, drivers there let others change lanes with a smile, and there isn’t the same cut-throat intensity as on Southern California roads. I saw so many people on cell phones – walkers, drivers; few appeared to be paying attention to the present.

Glad to be home.

[Today's photo is one taken last year of Mom and me when we restored her incredible Chiura Obata painting. We love to remember that day; we all gathered in the Alameda studio of the conservator-restorer Tomakatsu Kawazu.]

Endless Summer ends...

I think I've reached the period after a big ol' change (leaving a job after 21 years) when the spirit calms down enough to notice: "Whoa...am I on the right BART car? Is this my stop?" The change has been startlingly terrific, and,it has its own issues--the main one seems to be, "I can't see ahead.(Could I ever?)."

Some of this has been precipitated by "a change in the weather" (thanks, Credence Clearwater). I feel like summer is truly behind me -- and that was the last time I thought I knew what I was doing. NorCal's first big storm is due tonight, and I'm very ready for it -- but maybe not what comes after.

Here at the homestead on Bucklebury Road, we've almost finished the JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes thank-you notes, and my decluttering whirlwind is slowing down. I'm facing some core questions about our belongings. Where do I store what we're keeping? It's hard to keep things visible so they can be used, but if we don't use them, why the heck keep them?

Seems kinda obvious and maybe minor, but an organized, cleared out space feels like the kernel of my creativity. Does that sound too metaphysical? My sweet friend Neal worded it just right as he tried to describe how he and his companion Mackenzie felt as they explored Canarvon Gorge in New Zealand: "This place is an oasis on the land and in the mind. We felt mystically surreal as ancient forest spirits rode eternal lightbeams into our pseudo-human emotion receptacles. Just kidding :-"

Lightbeams aside, I haven't forgotten about writing, radio commentaries, critique groups, voice over work - irons in every little flame; it all seems on slow simmer -- like the curried chicken I made Saturday, or garnet-red clear pomegranate jelly Alan cooked and bottled over the weekend.

Let the rain begin!

[Since I'm crap at formatting captions, images above are: JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes at State Capitol (our 8th, dang it); Josh hanging a few at Malibu Pier at end of summer; Lyra, Taj & Big Sur first day of fall (our anniversary)]

Aunt Polly kept track of us all

My sweet Aunt Polly passed away at 4 a.m. this morning. I happened to be awake, as the Woodland Police Department dispatcher called our number in error; at the time I was relieved that it wasn’t an emergency call about someone I loved, but... Polly’s son Rich and his wife Kay were up at that time, too. Who knows how we all communicate.

I saw Polly a week ago when I drove her daughter Annie from the Sacramento airport north to Chico, where Polly lived the last few years. Her hair and skin were beautiful: rich dark brown-almost black streaks threaded through her still-abundant grey hair, and her face was relatively unlined for a woman who would have turned 93 in a few weeks. Her smile was lovely and kind; she was so happy all four of her children had been with her in the last few weeks.

To my mind, Polly had made almost a complete circle, living in the shady town of Chico at the end of her life that seems to have similarities with Cleveland, the town where she grew up, met and married her husband Max, and had her four children. In between she paused in Los Angeles and Phoenix, living near family before settling in a place with mountain views and blue blue skies.

Polly is the one who always sent cards to commemorate birthdays, anniversaries and other milestones to everyone in our large extended family. My wedding anniversary is in three days, and I will miss the card that would have already been in the mail. She had one of the sharpest memories of the Konigsberg siblings and filed away many useful bits of information. When our daughter was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes eight years ago, Polly was the one who remembered that her mother’s second cousin’s daughter had died of type 1 around 1920, before insulin was available as a treatment.

Polly was devoted to her brothers and sisters, and worried about those who were still alive. Just a month ago, her beloved sister Cissy died, a fact that bothered her because she was a year old than Cissy, and Cissy’s passing wasn’t in the right order, she said.

She had a great laugh, and shared stories of growing up during the Depression and beyond. Polly was so very proud of her children—Rich of Seattle, Marta of New Hampshire, and twins Annie of Scottsdale and Rob of Chico—and of her four grandchildren, Katherine, Ben, Aaron and Eric.

It’s a milestone for all of us that she is gone; we will miss our archivist with the gentle smiling face. We love you, Polly.

[video from Cissy’s 90th birthday, Feb. 2008. L-R: Sisters Saralee, Cissy and Polly.]

My Aunt Cissy rocks on

My darling Aunt Cissy died last night on her half-birthday - she made it to 92 ½! That would be more impressive if she'd been in good health the last 18 months, but several strokes took away that infamous "quality of life."

But, heck, there was Quality of Life to spare the previous 90+ years. Julia has been emailing from Chile as we process the news about Cissy’s death. She wrote:

"Oh, my goodness. I'm so sorry to hear this. I hope she is at peace now. I will dearly miss her, and do already. I am in a small town on the Chilean coast and I want to say a prayer for her. … Let’s raise a toast (a piece of bread from our purse) for Cissy."

I enjoyed telling Cissy stories to my hairdresser today, including the one about the toast in her purse. I second Julia's emotion about missing her already--especially that twinkling eye and her off-color, out-of-bounds sense of humor (is that what it was?!). Cissy would toast Julia's latest adventure in South America.

Our famous connection to Cissy's toast came the night before Alan and I were married. She could barely restrain her glee waiting to speak at the Lobster House restaurant in Marina del Rey. When she rose to address family and friends, she opened her purse to reveal a much toasted piece of bread. She raised it in a toast to Alan and me, and announced she was thrilled Alan “knew how to use a hammer,” and didn't care if he could use “any of his other tools." At our wedding the next day, Alan's Grandpa Evan enjoyed getting to know Cissy, who also went by her childhood nickname of "Cippy." Grandpa Evan loved that name, and had fun calling her "Mrs. Cippy."

I remember the love she had for her son Marc-David and the interest she had in her grandchildren’s adventures. She talked with love of her first husband Art, and we got such a kick out of her delightful and often bawdy anecdotes about second husband Dick, the love of her life. It was from Cissy I realized love that was discovered in middle-age love could flourish in every way. She and Dick fixed up a Dodge van and drove all over the Southwest and into Mexico where they spent time making ceramics at an art colony of ex-pats. When they lived in Santa Monica, they would slip into my mother’s house and do repairs—we called them "vandals in reverse." On Dick's birthday one year they went to New Orleans to hear his favorite Dixieland musician, Pete Fountain. They went to France once for Cissy's birthday and a chance to ride in a hot air balloon.

The final Cissy story probably should be preceded by a warning—Not For the Faint of Heart. Cissy loved painting and took many classes over the years. Shortly after Dick’s death, she made a painting incorporating his photo. She proudly showed us this painting “with Dick in it,” at a Passover seder. As I reached over to touch the painting, her granddaughter Shannon called to me, “Don’t touch it, Lyra. It really does have Dick IN it!” It turns out Cissy had read an article about a technique to add ashes of loved ones to a painting so it could truly be infused with the essence of the departed. Always the experimental artist, she had added a “little bit of Dick” to her painting. A startling family moment…

My dear sweet Cissy, I hope you're reunited with darling Dick and having a ball.

Tomatoes, how I love thee

Our garden is bursting with delicious juicy tomatoes, one of summer's greatest gifts.
I have a new favorite recipe - Bread and Tomato Salad. Here's a simple and delicious recipe from Ann M. Evans and Georgeanne Brennan, two of my favorite food mavens of Northern California who happen to live near me.

This recipe was printed as part of their column "From the Ground Up," in the Davis Enterprise on Aug. 9, 2009.

Bon Appetite, baby!

Bread & Tomato Salad

A great use for old bread! Choose a coarse-crumbed bread. If desired, add chicken pieces rolled in bread crumbs and fried until golden.

Ingredients:
½ loaf of 2-3 day old, coarse-crumbed bread such as a baguette or olive or walnut bread
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
½ teaspoon sea salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, cored and coarsely chopped
¼ to ½ cup small basil leaves, or torn if large

Putting it together:
Trim crusts from bread and discard. Cut bread into ½ inch cubes. Set aside. If the bread is still quite soft, put a little olive oil in skillet and sauté the bread until golden, turning several times. [I toast it.]

In the bottom of a salad bowl, combine olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper. Add the tomatoes and turn gently. Add the bread and basil, turn several times and serve immediately.

Serves 4 as an appetizer or side dish.

Lyra’s notes: I have used any nice multigrain or wheat bread and a vcariety of olive oils. I toast the bread if it’s too dry. I don’t cut crusts off bread. I tend to use more tomatoes than the recipe calls for. And I eat bowls of this!

Our Travelin' Man...

Josh is here tonight en route to Santa Monica after attending a friend's wedding in Holland Lake, Montana. He and 2 friends drove there a week ago, and they returned early this morning with an additional buddy. Those Village Homes boys seem like cousins. He said the ones in the back seat slept, and we thought back on the days we worked with the same guys to make safe trips to snowboard in the Sierra back country. They look out for each other.

I can see from his smile and deep pleasure talking about the journey how much fun they had. It brought back fabulous memories of traveling with our kids on several big trips. The first was when Josh was 14 and Julia was 11. We headed east and north to the Ruby Mountains in Nevada, the Snake River and Laura Ingalls Wilder landmarks, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Glacier, and Vancouver.

We loved that trip so much, in spite of rain and 3 trips to Urgent Care, that we headed out again 2 years later, this time to the Southwest. Our first stop, though, was the X-Games to see wild wakeboarders do their thing at a sea park in San Diego. Then we hit the Grand Canyon, Monument National Park, Mesa Verde National Park, and finally Zion before a 3 hour stop in Las Vegas. Our dog Tam pooped on a resort lawn and Alan refused to pick it up, saying it was the only real item in the whole town.

When Josh graduated from college we took a memorable trip to to Alaska. We were guests of Alan's folks on a 52-foot boat and fished like we'd never fished before. The last few days of the trip the kids and Alan and I stayed together in a hotel room in Juneau, where the kids and I woke together to stare in disbelief to our beloved snore-machine as he peacefully sawed logs. It always makes me laugh to remember.

We took a long road trip with both of them 4 years ago when Julia was studying in Granada, Spain. It was like old times - they both fell asleep in the car when we drove, we played their favorite music, and Josh and Julia and I woke up to Alan's snoring all across Andalucia.

Julia is in Chile for 2 weeks right now! She'll be back 5 days before she starts graduate school in creative writing at San Francisco State. Guess we all have the traveling bug. I enjoy looking back as much as taking the next trip - it reminds me how blessed I am.

Rabbit, Rabbit...

My sister April used to talk about an "April fiscal year," with each successive month just being a higher number of "April" - May 2 would be April 32, etc. She also started a tradition of saying "Rabbit, rabbit" as the clock struck midnight on a new month. So "Rabbit, rabbit" a day late.

Josh & friends just headed out for Montana in his happily stuffed Scion, one of those hilariously boxy cars that looks like a slightly squished little railroad car on small wheels. What fun they will have! At first Josh was a little anxious when they left, but I mentioned I'd been reading dear Peggy & Jon Watterson's blog about their tandem bike trip across the U.S. (they've just crossed the Mississippi!)and we all laughed and realized how much fun the boys will have.

Julia leaves for Chile on Tuesday for a 2-week visit before grad school - meeting a dear childhood friend.

What a great time for us.

World whizzing by...

So I know there's still a world out there with war-peace-weather-pain-joy but my newly retired state is curled around me like a feathery comforter on a cold night. And it's delightfully summer - my favorite - I'm happy.

Early morning dog walks, sorting/discarding excess household stuff, biking to swim workouts, reading newspaper thoroughly. What a concept. Thank goodness I have time to do this while there still ARE newspapers. A respected Bay Area reporter called me to ask about my former job. Fine writing isn't protection for him as ax threatens to fall on his livelihood.

I even follow links that people send me in emails. Next project is trying out new recording device. Oh yes, I have plans.

In the meantime, when sleep is down the road, I sit on my giant exercise ball in front of the computer and write. Just realized my hand isn't tingling tonight. Could I be healing?

For July 14: Brownies learn La Marseillaise

My mother wasn't your average Brownie troop instructor. When I was in third grade, she volunteered to help my troop do something musical--singing.

I remember we met at Paula Kalustian's house on 23rd and Idaho streets; their garage was converted into a 'rec room,' which I thought was very cool. My 8-year-old sensibility didn't think it was cool at all that my mother the pianist was teaching us to sing. She wore a form-fitting white summer dress with a red pattern (triangles? polka dots?) and wood open-toed high heeled pumps.

And she didn't teach us campfire songs. We learned French songs, for heaven's sake, including this one about a bridge in Avignon - "Sur le pont d'Avignon." She pursed her lips as the French do to make those kissable sounds, and must have urged us to do the same because I remember our exaggerated lips trying to mimic hers.

I remembered most of the first verse to this day (the rest I found on the Internet).

Sur le pont d'Avignon

Sur le pont d'Avignon

L'on y danse, l'on y danse

Sur le pont d'Avignon

L'on y danse tous en rond

Les beaux messieurs font comm' ça

Et puis encore comm' ça

As I describe this, I keep thinking it sounds like something David Sedaris wrote. My childhood, my mother.

I still remember much of the French National Anthem, La Marseillaise, because I think she taught the Brownies that song, too. In honor of the French Revolution and Bastille Day July 14, here is the first verse:

Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes !

Buy a baguette or make French toast July 14.

Whip lash

Alan's got a pattern. He's almost home and calls to tell me he's at Longs Drug Store picking up a prescription that isn't ready yet.

Asks if I need anything.

When I say 'no' and get ready to sign-off he begins.

"I was waiting on the off-ramp at Russell..."

"Oy, did someone rear-end you?"

"Yes."

"Are you OK?"

"I was kinda rattled when it happened, but I think I'm OK. I'll call it in while I'm waiting for the prescription."

"Oh, honey. Is your neck sore? You need some massage treatments. How about that terrific woman who's also a physical therapist?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. We have to go through the insurance stuff...May as well call it in."


We'll need some of that peaceful Davis summer heat to soothe and calm. And a good dinner...

Sunday eve...

I used to dread Sunday evenings -- school or work the next day. As an adult, I began to relax about Sunday nights during the summer, especially. The rich, thick quiet and heat of Davis summer nights gently drew away the fear. Knowing that fewer people are in town during the summers took away whatever 'stage fright' a new week seemed to bring. And 2 weeks into my next incarnation (retired from University), especially since it's July, makes it all the more sweet - no fears, soft heat, quiet, opportunity.

As a child, my mother soothed Sunday evenings by bringing our dinner into her bed where we'd all watch the 5:30 p.m. Sunday movie - the classics starring Dorothy Lamour, Spencer Tracy, Kathryn Hepburn, Clark Gable, Victor Mature and other stars from her youth in the '30s and '40s. My sister, Mom and I got lost in the stories and elegance and were able to go to bed ready for the week. Dad was often working on the farm in Yuba City, while we watched the movies in Santa Monica, part of the 'company town' scope of Hollywood.

My son still gets 'the Sunday feeling,' and finds comfort in the fact that I know exactly what he means. He's a Los Angeles-area high school teacher, and his life revolves around the academic calendar. That rhythm affects us here, too, in Davis, because it's a university town.

But -- those feelings are from my past, and now I treasure each evening. Off to bed for Part 1 of the night for me;>)

3 a.m. & all's well

The best thing for a woman awakened by sore calves (or anything else) is the Internet. It's as helpful to me as any sleeping potion, hot milk concoction or Sleepytime Tea. I've been posting to Twitter, reading a blog by friends bicycling across country on a tandem, and looking at amazing photo sites I found on Twitter (look closely @ these images - wild! RT: Hehkuva | Lehtikuva | a Sanoma company | hehkuva.com http://bit.ly/1Sx9UN ).

I fear sleeplessness less and slip into my coma-like focus easily.

I just noticed legs aren't hurting and it's time to hit the sack again. Blogging, here's my try!