Unicorn

When you have a friend who has everything she needs and who is diligently decluttering her home and life, it's a challenge to find a birthday gift that will not obligate a politely feigned delight. What none of us have is enough time together to just chat and share of ourselves. Knowing this person since she and I were crazy girls on ponies, although she no longer follows that passion, she used to introduce herself to strangers with all of her many middle names and insert "Tiddlywinks", her pony's name, into the mix before finishing with her surname. She's turning fifty-six, catching up with me, as happens each year.

I'm giving her the gift of an appointment with a Unicorn. She can hug him, groom him, ride him or simply make a wish. Sarge is the oldster at the barn and a favorite with the kids. He's pure white, except when they paint him with flowers and rainbows. He is the heart horse of the riding school owner and instructor. On special occasions he turns into a magical beast.

Happy Un-Birthday to Me:)

As I walked the dog early yesterday morning, in the silver grey negative light world, I heard the wild turkeys rippling like a busy stream, chattering over and around thestones and pebbles on its path. Oh tranquil moment, how you had me fooled.

The front door of my house was standing open on my return; curious and self-posessed cat had taken up sentinel duty outside. I'm not the person who forgets to close a door properly, so was unsurprised that mahem was afoot beyond the 7am threshold.

My organized and high-functioning friend, who is in residence for a few days, was flapping about, not unlike a rudely awoken wild turkey. The sound of gushing streams was real and erupted from downstairs shower and toilet, carrying toxic sewage debris in an ever-flowing inch thick wave, across family room, bedroom, office and laundry room.

You know the true value of a friendship when a, usually pristine and glamorous, buddy is prepared to don a pair of rubber boots and wade through shit, with a smile, in order to rescue what can be saved from the black water tsunami.

Said friend was left in charge of a seemingly unstoppable waterfall, as I had to leave to meet with clients. I had turned off the house water, which made no difference, other than leaving us to clean our teeth with bottled water. My property managers were not answering their emergency contact line and I had left messages for them and the owner of the home that we rent. I had a cell number on file for, what turned out to be their bookkeeper. I woke her up and she responded like a champ. Calls went out to plumbers and I was rather happy to have a good excuse to drive away.

During my meetings, I received several "updates" from my poor beleaguered house guest. Her adreniline was running as high and fast as our own personal tide of excrement. King Canute would have been overshadowed by her passionate pleas for the waters to receed. Two hours, and counting, into the smelly inundation of our living space, my valiant Defender of Dry Spots had laid down barrages in doorways, using every towel I own, and still not seen a plumbing professional in her sights.

I was in a clean dry place with pleasant people, having creatively satisfying discussions about their kitchen pizza oven and fireplace design plans. I was actually bringing to fruition a couple of client contracts, in order to be able to continue to pay the rent on my sodden abode.

In the meantime, my Gladiator of Contaminated Cascades had called 911 and been put through to City Utilities who concluded that a City water main had ruptured and all of that water was gushing up the pipe of least resistance, as my house is at the lowest point in the neighborhood.

I returned home to find men in orange vests down a manhole at the bottom of our garden and a fleet of green vans loaded with green T-shirted heroes, wielding an arsenal of effluent-vacs and bio-hazard plastic bags, also descending to our rescue.

You don't need all the gory details. There were smells; there was sweat and elbow-grease; carpets were removed and chemicals were sprayed. There are noisy, but necessary dehumidifiers in every affected corner and the clean team will return on Monday to remove the wooden flooring.

No one was hurt. Nothing of great value was lost. We even have an alternate guest room for our much appreciated friend to move into, which she has already transformed into a much more stylish and attractive space than it was as just my home office.

We were even able to escape for a couple of hours to a pre-arranged gathering with friends for a wine tasting and birthday cake, afternoon tea, without the tea.

Tall Gerber Daisies, in, what looked to be, tribal neck braces, and a besprinkled cupcake, were the perfect antidotes to the floating darkness of the first half of the day. We sat at a table in the shade of a large tree, animated by wood-peckers and squirrels, sipped a nice chilled Viogner, from the vinyards around us and watched the trail riders festoon the steep hillside in ribbons of good natured horse ornaments.

This morning dawned another beautiful day. We grilled marinated kebabs and ate in the sun on the deck, overlooking the garden. After our early lunch, Cassie met her new furever Dad and left us to start her Happy Endings.

The Party

The party is behind us.  A happy crowd of forty guests all found seating around three big tables and chowed down on a whole salmon; wrapped in foil with lemon slices, fennel, pastis, green onions, ginger, garlic, thyme and bay leaves; ensconced in the wood-fired BBQ for close to an hour; with occasional additions of fresh, fragrant rosemary to enhance the smokey aromas.
We had 15 lbs of succulent, tender beef, turned into the best Boeuf Bourgignon and 20 lbs of Gratin potatoes, which I'd started peeling at 6am. Dish after dish of Provencale tomatoes; topped with toasted goat cheese from a farm on the nearby coast, and oodles of parsley and garlic; green salad, cheese and two birthday cakes fed carnivores, omnivores and vegetarians alike, with plenty of wine and bubbly available to wash it all down.
It was a huge success, to the point that I turned on the sprinklers at the end, to dislodge the family members who tend to encrust themselves, without regard to the hour or the fact that they are the final stragglers and their alcohol-clouded political opinions are not anything I want to hear. There's a broken sprinkler head in the lawn (thank you tree trimmers) that squirts right onto the patio.
"Somehow", or "As Usual" the Birthday Boy was surrounded by a phalanx of female guests. They were first to be offered our magic potion, or Secret Sauce, as some have dubbed it. The big airtight jar contains cherries, kumquats, apricots and any other fruit we buy in season. Topped off with cognac, ginger liqueur, rum and brown sugar, the mixture sits quietly in the dark of the cupboard, waiting to be shared on special occasions. My brave equestriennes are not afraid of a drink or two and respectfully sipped at their glasses. Eyes widened and brows went straight up upon biting into the surprisingly lethal fruit of the tipsy cherries. The jar has been refilled now and will bide its time until the Christmas Party season. Thank goodness birthdays are only once a year!

The Post-Apocalyptic Tree-Trimmer approach to Gardening.

The Artistic One has a birthday in May. He'll be 78 this month, despite the odds and recent traveling blood clots. A handful of years back TAO didn't want to talk about birthdays. He didn't want a party, or gifts, or anyone to know. Then we had a few struggle-years, like the rest of America and it was hard to get up the energy or think much about extravagances, beyond a full tank of gas. Well, it's official, he's over it! It has been made known that this boy wants a party.
We're formulating a plan; to accommodate everyone's busy schedules and the last-minute nature of the affair; a two-phase event with a sit down garden lunch and a buffet of edibles for those who will randomly appear and disappear. We're planning a menu for carnivores and vegetarian tastes. Nothing high-maintenance; preferably things we can somewhat prepare the day before.
I'll get the pool heater turned on so that the Feral Grandchildren won't be so chilled that they'll come bother us. I've invited friends and foster-dog graduates and some clients we like as well, one of whom offered to give me his poolside furniture, which he is replacing. I hope he comes through before May 19th.
I made a major push to restore my back garden to some level of presentability. We have about 20 ft of flat area before the 60 degree downward slope, embellished with prickly, holly-like bushes that the landlord thinks were a great addition because they produce yellow flowers, for about five minutes every year. With sprinklers that were out of action due to a major underground water leak, for most of last summer and into fall, the lawn was crispy and even the gophers gave up on us.
This Spring I relaunched my efforts and put in sweet-peas and Dahlias and reseeded the grass; which has grown in some luxurious patches and not at all in others; still it's better than it was and the cat thinks the dead patches, covered with planting mix, are perfect for her plein-air bathroom.
This whole "Gotta have a Party!" story started about three weeks ago. I went into full-bore Mad Gardener mode and hauled car loads of bedding plants from the nursery. I can't plant anything much bigger than a 4" pot. The hillside doesn't have too many gophers for the simple reason that they'd need dynamite to tunnel through the rocks and even our friendly NRA hasn't started arming rodents with blasting caps and such.
I lifted and carried and dragged pots and flats of plants and piled bags of chicken compost on the dolly, to trundle down the bumpy side path; leaning back as a counter-weight to stop from careening downhill and off the edge of the four foot vertical retaining wall, drop-off at the bottom, that would land me on the strategic cement rim, rather than into the less deadly water. (I have been in the pool before; in-advertantly; in the winter; fully dressed, including boots and gardening gloves, but that's a story for another day).
It would almost have been a pleasure to take a dip this time. We've had one record-breakingly hot weekend after another  and I'm quite surprised that anything has flourished, as the soil contains a high level of salt from the sweat dripping off my forehead.
Just as I arrived at a level of satisfaction and could believe in the promise of a respectable show of flowers by B-Day, my landlord, who never fixes anything, decided that trimming the overgrown trees would save him money on pool filter and pump repairs. Of course most of what I'd planted was right beneath the offending trees, and the rest was a selection of fuschias, and other shade plants, appropriate to the patio which last saw full sun about five years ago.

I've just skipped a week since my last paragraph. Every spare minute has gone to hand watering the patchy grass and few remaining flowers. There was trampling by tree-trimmer boots, crushing by branches, dragging, tearing and uprooting as part of the cleanup and, "Surprise! Surprise!" broken watering system, leading into another very warm spell.
The fuchsias and begonias that I'd placed in large terra cotta pots, on the previously shaded patio, wilted visibly, the minute they felt the blistering California sun, as it rounded the naked trunk and bore through the skeleton branches of the previously impervious blockade of Blue Spruce. The cannas that have already grown quite tall for May have been dragged over to bridge the gap and offer some shade to the roots of the sweet pea trellis, beneath the stunted remains of the crabapple tree. I've thrown a few more bedding plants into the beds around the edge of the lawn but they won't reach maturity between now and Sunday, not even if there's an App for that.
It's curiously liberating to have reached the decision to quit fighting the impossible fight (in the garden). Tomorrow is B-Day minus two. Planning food, drinks, seating and cutlery for a multinational, multicultural, gang of 30-40 people is the task to be tackled.
We'll begin the morning by writing lists....

King for a Day!

To steal a quote from B.P. "Clean-up's a Bitch!" Thank goodness we recently renewed our supply of glasses; three dozen guests stretched our glassware and cutlery supplies to the limit. By the end of the afternoon the latecomers were resorting to drinking red wine from champagne glasses. It is surprising how disconcerting that looked.
The weather was unexpectedly kind to us with sunshine, instead of the forecast blustery rain. I had prepared a stack of sun hats and sweaters so that guests could adapt to be comfortable whatever the climate.
The upper shelf of the barbecue failed early on, under the weight of the sixteen pound piece of beef we were grilling, but I caught it as it was sliding down and moved it to the next shelf with only a small burn-blister on one finger. Phew!
New recipe for aubergine/egg plant and tomatoes seasoned with fresh ginger and served topped with chilled yogurt and cilantro was very yummy and satisfied some vegetarian friends, as did the gratin of potatoes. We had green salad and beetroot salad for the eyes as well as the palate and a cheese course followed by the inevitable cakes.
Hubby was truly "King for a Day", surrounded by family and friends. He beamed from start to finish and woke up still smiling this morning.

Toasting Hemingway

Yesterday was Lovely-Daughter's 24th birthday. We met for dinner at La Bodegita, Cuban Restaurant. LD has had her hair highlights up-dated into very Glam, Long Summer-Streaks. Her make-up was focused on a "smokey eye". She was dressed to party with her friends after we "Oldies" went home and she and her handsome, well dressed, husband looked as though they were ready for the red carpet. ( She sure didn't get all this fashion sense from me. Blame/applause to the French side of the family). They were punctual; that she gets from me.

La Bodegita is very nice, it has warm surroundings, great service and food as well as a Rum Selection that would satisfy Hemingway.
I was advised to try a mixed drink with a subtle splash of rum. It tasted like wishy washy lemonade and had sugar coating the outside of the glass. Have they met me before? I don't want a sticky glass and please keep sprigs of mint to yourself; it is an aromatic weed and only vaguely useful in a sauce served with roast lamb.

The attentive waiter, hearing my disappointment, advised another cocktail, this one containing something called "Rum Agricole". Much more my style! I needed my teeth whitened anyway and now won't need the dentist to do them! I imagine that Rum Agricole is used to chase the rats out of the sugar cane plantations. Just what I was looking for.

We had Ceviche followed by Paella, which is always such a risk to order, not last night. The Paella deserved to be photographed, it was beautiful, but we were too lazy to get the camera from the car. The ingredients were fresh and tasty and the rice was moist and seasoned to perfection. Yum! Dessert involved flambeed bananas, of course, and we finished up keeping the men company in the cigar salon and sipping, a more sophisticated, mellow, aged rum which was like nectar of the Gods.

Today Hubby and I drove South to San Juan Bautista, one of the original California Missions, originally built in the seventeen-hundreds. The ground drops off suddenly beside the Mission. that is the San Andreas Fault Line, right there! It makes sense to pray hard in a spot where the plates of the Earth's crust collide. The Mission is still a functioning Church and the town around it is simple Western-Style with one main street. There are flowers, intermingled with enormous old cacti, everywhere. Today the roses were spectacular and the swallows were flitting around, as always in the spring. We were lucky enough to catch sight of a variety of flowering cacti.

Our favorite lunch spot is Jardine de San Juan, a Mexican restaurant with a huge interior courtyard, shaded by plane trees and accented with purple clematis, pink geraniums and a wandering troop of chickens, with accompanying roosters. There is a central fountain and live musicians.

It is hard to admit that we sometimes don't appreciate this little day trip destination, (easily bored), but today it was perfect.

If you go down to the woods today.....

Friends are the best birthday gift!

Crazy and generous, loopy and familiar, odd and forgiving, daft enough to drive in from near and far to picnic in the damp cold woods in March, for my birthday.

Only, it wasn't cold, how could it be with all that warmth and love?

Time is A-Ticking

art by Salvador Dali

The count-down has commenced. As my final day of being 49 begins to wane I look straight ahead into my 50's.

Some good friends and family members are getting together with me for a barbeque luncheon tomorrow, by the stream, under the new-green Chestnut trees, in our nearby State Park.

Park Rangers, Poison Oak and Allergies notwithstanding, I plan to have a wonderful time.