Bloom Where You're Planted

 “We'll be Friends Forever, won't we, Pooh?' asked Piglet.  Even longer,' Pooh answered.” - A.A. Milne

My Soundtrack:  We're Going to Be Friends by the White Stripes 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKfD8d3XJok

Girls, much like dogs, travel in packs.  I have a pack of friends who started a book club with me many years ago.  Our club evolved over time and we now mostly use it as an excuse to get together, drink wine, catch up with each other and occasionally read a book.  Our motto is "We're the book club that reads between the wines."  We celebrate each other's accomplishments, cheer each other on when encouragement is needed and see each other through not-so-happy times.  We are a tight-knit group so imagine our sadness when a member of our pack, Debi, announces she is abandoning us and moving to Dallas for an exciting opportunity for her husband.  Misters before sisters. (Insert sad emoji here.)

Have you ever had a friend who lights up the place just by walking in the room?  Whose gigantic smile is matched only by the size of her heart?  That is our Debi.  People naturally gravitate towards her. She fills a room with her laughter and amuses everyone with her self-deprecating humor.   She has us falling out of our chairs in stitches while weaving a tale about her personal mishaps, which are many.  We laugh with her, not at her.    

The only cure for missing Debi is a road trip.  We plan to bombard her and head north on a hot, sunny Saturday morning.  Despite the fact that we are only spending one night, we pack enough clothes for a month.  We are women, after all.  We completely fill the back of our friend Kathy's SUV with suitcases. And not to worry should we get lost or stranded along the way.  There is enough food and wine being transported to feed a third world country. 

One would think that a trip from Austin to Dallas would be a straight shot but not with our group. We turn a three hour trip into a five hour trip by stopping at a couple of points of interest along the way.  First stop - Waco.

Never in a million years would I think Waco would be a destination but since the TV show Fixer Upper came out on HGTV, we, as a nation, are obsessed with Chip and Joanna and my group is no exception.  We are excited to swing by Magnolia Market https://shop.magnoliahomes.net/  The parking lot is overflowing with people and cars are fighting for spots.  The shop is surprisingly small and it is crammed full of people.  I do not exaggerate.  You can hardly move.  And forget about trying to browse.  It's a mad house.  There is a second outbuilding - also small and full of people.  Claustrophobic and baking from the heat, we notice, in true Joanna fashion, a table of glass dispensers with cold, fruit infused water.  Aaaah!  I want to be Joanna.

We spy the Pokey O's truck parked conspicuously in the store lot. http://www.pokeyoswaco.com/   Ice cream sandwich for breakfast?  Why, yes, thank you very much! What a great addition to Waco!  They serve delicious ice cream between two homemade cookies that have been baked to the precise consistency so that the cookies dissolve in your mouth and don't crumble to the ground.  In a word - perfection!  The instructions for enjoying a Pokey O's are as follows:

1.  Cookie
2.  Ice cream
3.  Another Cookie
4.  Shove it in your face
5.  Repeat

We manage to shove two ice cream sandwiches in our faces.  They are that good.  And did I mention that my adorable nephew Austin and his beautiful wife Julia are the proprietors?

We leave Waco behind and head north only to make it to West, TX before stopping again.  I dare anyone to attempt to drive to Dallas from Austin without stopping at Czech Stop.  http://www.czechstop.net/   The fragrance of their kolaches baking is enough to make anyone divert from the interstate.  This small, unassuming bakery has been serving hungry travelers for many years.  No matter what time you visit, there is always a line wrapped around the store to purchase these delicious delicacies.  We pick up a dozen assorted kolaches and hit the road again.  The yeasty aroma fills the car and we restrain ourselves from diving in before we reach Dallas.

After a couple of texts wondering where the heck we are, we finally arrive at Debi's!  After many hugs and unloading the car, we settle down to visit.  Debi is the Martha Stewart of our group.  She is a fabulous cook, entertainer, decorator.  Going to her house is like spending the night in a five star hotel.

True to Debi form, she has laid out a smorgasbord of hors d'oeuvres along with Blueberry Vodka Martini's - Debi's own recipe which she gave me permission to share.

Blueberry Vodka Martinis

Pour the following into a shaker:

1 jigger blueberry vodka (Debi recommends Western Sun Blueberry Vodka)

1/2 jigger limoncello

1/2 jigger vanilla vodka

Fill remainder of shaker with ice and lemonade shake and serve.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.

We sip and gab, sip and gab.  There is so much to catch up on.  It's been 3 months for pete's sake.  Then Debi presents us each with a gift basket which includes not only a candle but also a book mark made by Debi and a jar of homemade strawberry jam.  At this point, I feel totally inadequate as a human being.  I thought jelly only came from a grocery store!  Pass me the martini's.

After two or three more Blueberry Martinis (who's counting?), we decide it's best to head to dinner before we throw caution to the wind and indulge in a pure liquid diet.  Debi suggests the Yard House http://www.yardhouse.com/locations/tx/addison/  It's obvious this place is a popular watering hole among the locals.  It serves a vast array of beers by, what else?  The yard.  So we belly up to the bar and order wine.  Say wha?

Despite the large number of people waiting, we are quickly seated in a booth and commence to perusing the menu.  Our waiter is fun and thank goodness he's full of suggestions on what to order because the menu is so vast and full of choices that we are experiencing decision paralysis.  After much debate, I settle on the Miso Glazed Sea Bass.  We are in agreement that my meal is the best and Debi vows to order the sea bass from now on.  It is not only beautifully presented but the fish melts in my mouth.  The miso glaze is the perfect combination of sake, rice wine, soy sauce, brown sugar and miso paste.

After gorging ourselves, Wendy informs us she has intel on a wine bar in the same shopping center so we set off on foot in search and finally stumble upon Mercy. http://www.mercywinebar.com/ The name of the bar was inspired by the song Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison - "no one can look as good as you . . . . . Mercy!" Mercy is a cool little dive that proclaims it's "all about the wine experience" and it is.  We leave our wine lives in the hands of our over zealous server who gives us the third degree to help him decide on which wine to serve us.  He brings Marco Zunino Malbec, a dry Argentinian malbec with a bouquet of dark fruits.  Janet, our resident wine authority, gives two thumbs up so we dive in. Our waiter has not steered us wrong.  We enjoy the cool, live tunes and drink wine until we all cry "mercy" and head back to Debi's house.

The next morning it appears we have not worn out our welcome despite keeping Debi up until the wee hours of the morning talking.  She lays out a breakfast buffet fit for royalty with an explosion of pink carnations keeping watch over the table.  How does she do it?

We leisurely sip coffee and manage to chat for another couple of hours.  We never run out of things to talk about.  You would also think that we haven't eaten in days from the gourmandizing gusto with which we attack breakfast!

All good things must come to an end and it's time for us to head back to Round Rock.  As we begin packing, Debi pulls me aside to show me something.

When my husband and I moved to Round Rock almost 20 years ago, I was thrown for a loop by immense feelings of sadness.  This should have been a happy time but I was struggling to make friends, was dealing with two demanding boys and had an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.  My intuitive mother-in-law sensed something was wrong and sent me a sweet letter telling me all about how she and Papa had relocated often with his railroad job.  She had experienced some of what I was feeling and her mother had told her she just had to "bloom where she was planted."  Along with the letter came a cute blue and white striped tchotchke with a yellow butterfly floating overhead with that exact sentiment.  I kept that plaque forever in sight as a reminder that I needed to make the best of the situation.  As my mother-in-law knew would happen, I soon made new friends and settled into our surroundings.

Although excited about a new adventure in a new city, Debi also expressed a little anxiety about leaving her friends and starting over. Who better to share my plaque with? I paid it forward and gave it to Debi at our last book club meeting before she moved to Dallas.

As we enter her "she-shed" there sits the plaque on the top shelf!  Debi's face beams as she points it out to me and I realize that she, like me so many years ago, have taken the words to heart.

As we depart Dallas, I think of the anonymous quote, "Good friends are hard to find, harder to leave, and impossible to forget."   That certainly applies to Debi and I know that we'll all be friends forever.  Even longer. 

A Meal Without Wine is Called Breakfast

"I cook with wine.  Sometimes I even add it to the food."  W.C. Fields

My soundtrack:  Scenes from an Italian Restaurant by Billy Joel

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUz48xw_OiM

If you read my last blog about our trip to the Russian River Valley, then you know that we ate and drank our way across the area. My scales can attest to the fact that there was no shortage of delicious food. I came home, not only with wine and some extra pounds, but also with several recipes.

I want to share these recipes on my blog but thought I should test them out first.  For my guinea pigs, I lure some friends over on a couple of occasions with promises of alcohol if they will indulge me.  They have their reservations because I am notorious for my lack of culinary skills. Undaunted, I set a pretty table with flowers from my yard and commence to cooking.

The first recipe, Overnight Blueberry French Toast was served to my husband and me by our hosts on our last morning at the Santa Nella House Bed and Breakfast.  I was comatose after indulging in this syrupy breakfast dish and thought the world should know about this gastronomic delight.

My girlfriends, Kim and Sandy, are my test subjects on a warm Saturday morning.  As they take their first bites, their faces take on a strange look.  Initially I'm worried until Kim asks if it would be wrong to have a second helping.  I take that as a home run!  Serve with mimosas for a beautiful brunch.

Overnight Blueberry French Toast [from Allrecipes]

12 slices day old break, cut into 1 inch cubes

2 - 8 oz pkgs cream cheese, cut into 1 inch cubes

1 cup fresh blueberries

12 eggs, beaten

2 cups milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/3 cup maple syrup

1 cup white sugar

2 tablespoons cornstarch

1 cup water

 1 cup fresh blueberries

1 tablespoon butter

1. Lightly grease 9x13 inch baking dish.  Arrange half the bread cubes in the dish, and top with cream cheese cubes.  Sprinkle 1 cup blueberries over the cream cheese and top with remaining bread cubes.
2. In a large bowl, mix the eggs, milk, vanilla extract, and syrup.  Pour over the bread cubes.  Cover and refrigerate overnight.
3. Remove the bread cube mixture from the refrigerator about 30 minutes before baking.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
4. Cover and bake 30 minutes.  Uncover, and continue baking 25-30 minutes until center is firm and surface is lightly browned.
5. In a medium saucepan, mix the sugar, cornstarch, and water.  Bring to a boil.  Stirring constantly, cook 3-4 minutes.  Mix in the remaining 1 cup blueberries.  Reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes until the blueberries burst.  Stir in the butter, and pour over the baked French toast.

The next two recipes came from the Twomey Winery.  

Shaved Zucchini Salad

8 oz green zucchini

8 oz yellow zucchini or squash

2 tablespoons pumpkin seeds, toasted

2 oz Parmesan cheese, grated

2 tablespoons basil leaves, torn

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

Juice from 1 fresh lemon

1 teaspoon salt

Slice the green and yellow zucchini as thin as you can.  Place into a mixing bowl with the pumpkin seeds, Parmesan, basil, olive oil, lemon juice and salt.  Mix together and serve.

Garden Pesto Pizza

1 recipe Silver Oak Pizza Dough http://www.silveroak.com/food/recipes/silver-oak-pizza-dough/ 

or for the uninitiated, I used Pillsbury pizza crust

1 cup pesto

2 cups mozzarella

1/2 cup goat cheese, crumbled

4 teaspoons preserved lemon, finely diced (can anyone enlighten me?)

1/4 cup sun dried tomatoes, finely diced

I don't particularly care for Twomey's pesto recipe so I substitute a recipe from the Come on In cookbook by the Junior League of Jackson, MS.

Pesto

4 1/2 cups fresh basil, loosely packed

1 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/2 cup pine nuts

5 cloves garlic

2 teaspoons salt

4 oz freshly grated Parmesan cheese (1 cup)

1. Puree basil, olive oil, pine nuts, garlic, and salt in food processor until smooth.  Stir in freshly grated Parmesan cheese and refrigerate if not to be used immediately.
2. Prepare your wood oven (really?) or home oven and spin the pizza dough (ha!) to the desired thickness.  (If you're in my house, pop open that can of Pillsbury pizza dough and flatten it out onto a pizza pan.)  I actually baked the crust for about 5 minutes before adding any ingredients.
3. Spread a thin layer of pesto then sprinkle with mozzarella, goat cheese, preserved lemon and sundried tomatoes.  Bake for 10 minutes at 500 degrees and serve immediately.

I must admit I am a little worried when I pull the pizza out of the oven.  The oil from the pesto has pooled around the pan but is quickly absorbed after I let the pizza rest for a few minutes before serving.  I also think it will be a good idea to cook the pizza 5 minutes longer than the recipe calls since my oven is a little slow.  Wrong.  The crust is slightly overdone and the sundried tomatoes a bit charred but with assistance from my friend Sandy, we flip those tomatoes over and voila - the pizza looks beautiful!

My friends are skeptical when the smoke alarm goes off upon opening the oven door. That seems to happen a lot when I'm cooking pizza.  But their skepticism is laid to rest once we sit down to eat.  This pizza is downright palatable!

These recipes are so simple that my friends and family think I can actually cook.  I'm pretty sure I no longer have to ply them with alcohol to get them to sample my homemade dishes.  Speaking of . . try a good Sauvignon Blanc with the zucchini or pizza.  Buon Appetito!!

Let the Grapes Speak and the Terrior Sing

"If anyone orders Merlot, I'm leaving. I am not drinking any $@#%-ing Merlot."  Miles to Jack in Sideways.
My soundtrack:  California by Joni Mitchell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lm39YkGrHp8

Approximately 23 years ago, we visited Sonoma. A week prior to boarding the plane to California, I found out I was pregnant. Talk about your bad timing. Even more tragic was the fact that the actual smell of the wine upon entering every tasting room made me nauseous. My husband, however, was thrilled to have a designated driver the entire trip. 

With all the changes in our household lately we decide we need a hangover, I mean a do-over on our wine country trip, so after much discussion and internet searching we settle on the Russian River Valley. There are several things you need for a trip to the wine country: a convertible, a large brimmed hat, sunscreen and a sense of adventure. 

After some glitches with our flight, we arrive at the San Francisco airport in the wee hours of the morning. Once our luggage finally makes its appearance on a later flight, a story to which I could devote an entire blog, we drag ourselves to the car rental counter. Prior to leaving Austin my husband, who is of Scottish descent, had me reserve BT - basic mode of transportation. After all, we aren't going to be living in the car so no need to waste money on anything luxurious, right? Our Enterprise clerk, who is obviously high on Red Bull as she is a little too chirpy for 3:00 a.m., begins the process of checking us out. We spy a couple of guys loading their luggage into a white convertible. I can see my husband's eyes light up. "How much to upgrade to a convertible?" he asks. She quotes us an outrageous sum to which my husband, a master negotiator, promptly poo-poos. "We'll just stick with what we originally reserved," he replies and I start to pout. We continue the check out process when chirpy clerk interrupts us. Magically, after some additional searching, she is able to find a better corporate rate through my husband's work. My spirits soar and my bottom lip returns to its original, upright position! But alas, it still isn't the right price for good ole Scottish Bob. By this point I am resigned to the fact that we are going to be traveling just like all the other smucks of the world when TA-DA! Our clerk finds an even better rate and my husband jumps on it. It's a Christmas miracle but deep down I know it is Bob's Jedi mind control. He's good like that. Believe me. 

We pick a gray 2015 Ford Mustang GT convertible and it does not disappoint. I know nothing about cars but Bob, an avid car enthusiast and our pilot, is very pleased. The car sits low to the ground, handles well, has shifter paddles and great acceleration. The rag top is easy to put up or down with the touch of a button. The seats are incredibly comfortable which helps with our four hour drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. My only complaint is that both our suitcases will not fit in the trunk which is not surprising considering that it appears I have traveled with my entire closet and the Nordstrom's shoe department. Even Bob, who normally packs in an HEB grocery bag, has managed to fill up a relatively large suitcase. So we just throw one suitcase in the back seat. Problem solved! Which brings up another point. Unless you're hauling around little people, no one is going to fit in that back seat. The car definitely works best as a two seater.

The next morning we put the top down and head north. I am the navigator and think I'm smarter than my map app so I try to maneuver the old fashioned way - by paper map. Immediately we're lost but not to panic. We quickly spot the Golden Gate Bridge and begin a turtle's and snail's pace across the bridge. There are throngs of people trying to escape the city by car not to mention the people on foot crossing the bridge and taking in the misty view of the bay. Bob resists the urge to throw me over the side of the bridge for my lack of navigation skills and we make haste to Highway 1 and eventually hit the coastline.

As we wind our way down the hill out of the Mt. Tamalpais State Park, the Pacific Ocean suddenly unfolds before us reflecting the crystal clear blue skies.  We are thankful for our convertible as the ocean breeze hits us in the face and whips my hair into a frenzy. The sun beats down on us so we take this opportunity to work on our tans but I insist it's also time for the sunscreen and hats.  Bob sports a baseball cap and I model a wide brimmed straw number.  We imagine ourselves to be younger and more beautiful as we cruise with cool tunes blaring from the radio.

There are many sites of interest along the way:  Muir Woods, Point Reyes and Tomales Bay to name a few but we bypass these and press on for our initial destination, Bodega Bay.  Oysters and beer are the name of the game on this part of our journey and we pass many beach side joints with lines queued up to indulge in the slippery little suckers.  About halfway we realize we are parched and need to use the facilities.  There are so many quaint towns along Highway 1 and I imagine each one has it's own local dives but we choose to stop in Olema at the Farm House Restaurant.  We belly up to the bar and asked for the bartender's recommendation on brews.  He offers us Scrimshaw by North Coast Brewing.  It's a Pilsner beer with strong hops and Bob loves it.  I settle on Great White by Lost Coast Brewery.  It is crisp and perfect for a light-weight beer drinker like me.  Our thirsts quenched, we hop back in the Mustang and make haste for Bodega Bay.

We dart and wind between open road and wooded lanes and are amazed at the temperature difference in the shade.  We're in no hurry and just take in the beautiful, bucolic scenery.  

We finally reach Bodega Bay and head to Fisherman's Cove overlooking Bodega Harbor.  Our friends John and Karen highly recommend this place and it is worth the extra time winding around the harbor to find it.  We order a dozen oysters as well as prawns and chips.  The oysters are served with a mignonette sauce as opposed to cocktail sauce we're used to and we fight to the finish over each raw oyster, keeping count to make sure neither of us has more than the other.  We chase it with Bodega Head IPA from Third Street Aleworks, another hoppy West coast style beer.  It's starting to look like we're more on a brew tour than a wine tour.

We load up again, bid goodbye to the coast and head east on 116 toward Guerneville.  As we enter Guerneville, it becomes apparent that this is a town that time forgot.  It is stuck in the 1970's but we like the laid back vibe.  We locate our lodging, Santa Nella House Bed and Breakfast which sits about 4 miles south of town.  http://www.santanellahouse.com/  It's a Victorian farmhouse dating back to the 1870's and has quite a history.  The home has been a brothel and a Pony Express stop among other things before becoming a bed and breakfast.  We are greeted by the innkeepers Mike and Debbie who show us around the beautiful home.  Our room is cozy and tastefully decorated with antiques and a fireplace.  At 6:00 p.m. we're served wine and cheese on the large wrap-around veranda where we meet the other guests, Alan and Ferguson who are traveling from San Diego.

Debbie recommends Corks in nearby Forestville for dinner and even makes the reservation for us. http://www.russianrivervineyards.com/  Corks is located on a hill within the Russian River Vineyards, an organic and sustainably farmed vineyard.  The evening is so lovely and cool everyone dines on the patio which overlooks raised gardens and an old, preserved wine building.  Our waiter is informative and patient in helping us decide what we want to eat and drink.  Since we have been eating all day, I'm not that hungry so I choose charcuterie and cheese with a glass of their 2013 Chester's Zinfandel.  Bob chooses the fresh pan-seared scallops which practically melt in his mouth. Speaking of Chester, this Zin is named for the dog-in-residence who is a constant fixture on the patio. Bob calls and calls the dog to no avail. Chester ignores him and visits other tables who have been served their main courses.  As soon as we're served, Chester quietly plops down at Bob's feet.  That dog is no fool! We savor every bite and let Chester indulge a little as well, while the sun sets over the vineyard.  The bar has been set high on our first night.

The next morning we awaken to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the aroma of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.  The wrap around porch beckons me and is delightful with a slight breeze rustling the trees while the blue jays dart from limb to limb.  The chickens in the coop quietly peck away when all of a sudden they start to cackle announcing they're ready to be fed.  At 9:00 a.m. Debbie serves the guests a breakfast of fruit, yogurt and homemade granola, homemade nut muffins and a spinach and egg souffle made from fresh eggs from her hens.  We take the opportunity to get to know Alan and Ferguson a little better.

After breakfast, we head out with our complimentary Wine Tasting Pass from the Santa Nella House. This pass waives the tasting fees at most of the wineries in the area which at some places can run up to $20 per person. 

With the convertible top down, we travel the winding road 116 south past Forestville to start our tastings, then loop around through Windsor up to Healdsburg.  In Healdsburg, we head to the plaza and take our time visiting each upscale shop around the square.  The shady, tree lined streets give us a brief respite from the beating sun.  It is hot outside.  As we make our way around the plaza, we stop in Flying Goat Coffee.  This place is cool in both senses of the word.  We take our time enjoying a coffee and reading the local paper while others around us play Backgammon and other nostalgic games.  After we depart Healdsburg, we head down Westside Road stopping at various wineries along the way until we come full circle back to our bed and breakfast.

I won't elaborate on all wineries we visited as it would take up too much space.  But Merry Edwards http://www.merryedwards.com/ and Lynmar Estate, http://www.lynmarestate.com/ both located in Sebastopol, are worth mentioning.  Merry Edwards is one of California's first women winemakers and she's won many awards. We try six of her wines - a sauvignon blanc, a chardonnay and four pinot noirs.  They are all amazing but we are partial to the 2012 Olivet Lane Chardonnay, 2012 Klopp Ranch Pinot Noir, 2012 Olivet Lane Pinot Noir and the 2013 Coopersmith Pinot Noir.  According to her website, Merry Edwards's wines are served in fine dining establishments and in Austin that includes Cafe Josie, Driskill Hotel,  Eddie V's, Sullivan's Steakhouse and Wink.

Lynmar Estate is equally impressive with its wine but even more enjoyable are the tasting room, patio and lush gardens.  The sommelier takes his time explaining the history of each wine to us.  We taste four - 2 chardonnays and 2 pinot noirs.  The stand-out is the 2012 Quail Hill Vineyard Pinot Noir which Wine Enthusiast rated 93 points.  The official description boasts that it expresses "mid-palate" pitted cherries, rose petals and cardamon.  Being the wine connoisseur that I am, I just know that it tastes good so I ask the sommelier if I can purchase a full glass to enjoy.  He smiles and lets me in on a little secret.  "While tasting, if you find a wine that you particularly enjoy, simply ask 'can I re-visit that wine' whick is code for more, please!"  This tip comes in handy as we "re-visit" several wines on our trip. The sommelier pours us both a glass of the Quail Hill and we wander the exquisite gardens, marveling at the luxuriant vegetation and riotous blooms.  It's hard to leave this garden of Eden.

The next morning I have a surprise for Bob.  At 4:00 a.m. we head to the Sonoma County Airport to be greeted by Up and Away Ballooning. http://www.up-away.com/ From there we travel to the best launch site, which on this day is Middleton near Hidden Valley Lake, about an hour's drive away. The fog in the immediate area is just too thick.  Our pilot and chase team are friendly and fun.  We arrive at the launch site and Bob joins in with inflating the balloon.  We are finally up and away peering at the world from a bird's eye view.  Bob, who is afraid of heights, even enjoys himself as long as he doesn't look over the side of the basket!  We rise about 2000 feet and survey the area.  The pilot drops us down, skims a lake, takes us back up until we catch a current that takes us across the valley.  We land softly a little over an hour later.  Our only disappointment is that we have only traveled about 5 miles from our starting point.  

After a drive back to the airport to pick up our cars, we head to Kendall Jackson winery for brunch. Crossing the thick carpet of grass on the grounds of the winery (isn't California in a drought?) we head to a splendid picnic brunch set up beneath a large walnut tree.  We munch on quiche, coffee cake and fresh fruit while sipping mimosas.  The charismatic owner of Up and Away thanks us for traveling with them and reads us the balloonist's prayer:

The Winds have Welcomed you with softness.

The Sun has blessed you with its warm hands.

You have flown so high and so well

that God has joined you in your laughter

and set you gently back again

into the loving arms of Mother Earth.

We are happy to be back on terra firma and after a short afternoon nap, head to Armstrong Woods for a hike. The majestic redwoods are some of the tallest living things on earth, reaching heights of 250 feet. There are several self-guided hikes to choose from and we pick one about 2 1/2 miles long. As we strike out into the woods, we get the feeling of entering a cathedral, the ancient trees stretching to the sky and forming a cool canopy above our heads. The shallow root systems often give way to strong winds and leave many of the giants on their sides, providing us a display worthy of an art museum.

Afterwards, we explore the town of Guerneville and decide that all that hiking deserves some reward so we stop in Nimble & Finn's Homemade ice cream. http://nimbleandfinns.com  These sisters offer artisanal ice cream made from organic dairy and seasonal fruit.  In addition, they have homemade pies and are best known for their chili apple pie.  Their store resides in the former Guerneville Bank which has been beautifully renovated and includes a small museum.  Bob chooses a double scoop of Front Porch Mint Chip and Madagascar Vanilla in a waffle cone and I lose all self-control when I see the peanut butter pie.  It is rich and delicious and all I can do to eat four bites.  

Later than evening while continuing our exploration of Guerneville, we decide to dine at Chef Patrick's, a California French cuisine restaurant. http://www.chefpatricks.com/ It's a local favorite and we soon discover why.  The detail to each of our dishes is evident.  I pick the prawns risotto that includes artichoke hearts and sweet peas sprinkled with parmesan cheese. Bob dines on filet mignon with mashed potatoes, squash and green beans.  It's cooked to perfection.  A great ending to the perfect California day.

Our last day in the wine country has us trying to maneuver the Russian River in a kayak.  We rent through River's Edge Kayak & Canoe Trips which operates exclusively on the upper Russian River.  http://riversedgekayakandcanoe.com/  We choose the Rio self-guided 5 mile trip, a double kayak loaded with a small ice chest filled with water bottles, a dry bag for my cell phone and t-shirts and netting for our garbage.  We have a brief orientation with the staff on the beach where we put in.  He tells us to watch for various signs along the route.  We are to remember that the person in the back is the Captain and the person in the front is the navigator and he informs us that we are pretty much guaranteed to flip at some point along the trip.  He cautions us that the river is sometimes called the "divorce maker or the friendship breaker" because people have a tendency to get into arguments along the way, often fighting over who is guiding the boat or who is at fault for flipping.  He advises us that if this happens, think "ice cream" because there is FREE ice cream at the end of the trip.  Undaunted and excited, we push off for the approximately 4 hour float.  

In the beginning it is smooth sailing, no pun intended.  We navigate the river like pros until we come to the first section of swift moving water.  We promptly flip the kayak.  "Ice cream."  The cold water is refreshing since it has gotten quite warm.  We have a good chuckle, flip the kayak back over and paddle on.  We see wildlife - deer and duck, along the way before flipping the kayak a couple more times.  "Ice cream, ice cream."  The more we flip, the less funny it becomes.  

At about the 3 1/2 mile mark, we get to the point where it is nearly impossible to keep our kayak upright.  We cannot find a balance and continuously flip over.  Bob insists we are taking on water and I insist the two of us are just too heavy for this one kayak.  We should have rented 2 kayaks instead.  Bob reminds me that we didn't have trouble early in our trip and we begin to argue about what is going wrong. We try turning the kayak on its side to pour out any water we've taken on but nothing works.   "Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!"  

Around the 4 mile mark, frustration gets the better of us so I tell Bob he is just going to have to walk the rest of the way.  I am sick of dealing with this thing.  So Bob walks the bank and I paddle, both. of us unhappy.  Bob is stomping along the shore and I am struggling to paddle by myself.  "Ice cream, Ice cream, Ice Cream, ICE CREAM!!!"  

Teams of people begin passing me.  I notice how much higher they sit in their kayaks above the water. Note to self - I really need to get on a diet when we get home.  I am sinking this kayak!  I catch site of the beach where I am to disembark and it is not a minute too soon.  My arms are exploding as I try to paddle.  I finally bottom out about 10 yards from the beach and try to pull the kayak up but can't.  About this time, Bob walks up and tries to help me get the kayak to the beach but together we can hardly move it.  Bob thinks we may have punctured a hole in the boat and filled it with water but upon closer inspection we see no holes.  

We walk to the rental building to turn in our equipment and Bob mentions to the owner how much trouble we had and how heavy the kayak is.  She looks at us astonished and says, "Didn't the staff tell you about the plug?  There's a plug you pull to drain any water you take on when you flip."  Bob is thrilled and gives me that looks of "see I was right all along" and all I can do is ask "where's the free ice cream?"

After a much needed nap and a cooling down period, we are on speaking terms again and head off for our last dinner of the trip at Applewood Inn, a Micheline rated farm to table restaurant.  http://www.applewoodinn.com  The restaurant is styled after a country barn and is cozy and romantic with very attentive and personable waitstaff.  Since it's our last night, we have to start with another dozen raw oysters served with the mignonette sauce we've grown to love.  I dine on the roasted lamb and pair it with a half bottle of Merry Edwards 2012 Pinot Noir and Bob picks the New York Strip with an Old Rasputin from North Coast Brewing Company.  We end with a strawberry shortcake made with mandarin quat jam, ricotta cream and local strawberries.  In a word - divine.

As we depart the restaurant, we look upward to see the most romantic waxing crescent moon. A lovely finale to our trip.

As I look back on the week, I find that an excerpt from the poem The Garden of Epicurus by Lynn Fritz, proprietor of Lynmar Estate, perfectly sums up our time in the wine country.

Let us welcome the Grape

Let us enjoy the whimsy

Let us pursue the elusive

Commune with the deep gurgling joy

Valley of the Russuan River

Cool, serene, and wooded

With a sun that dances amidst the clouds

The Garden of Epicurus

Let the Grapes Speak

Let the Terrior Sing.

Feminine Conspiracy: Things That Make You Go "Hmm"

“What Melanie did was no more than all Southern girls were taught to do: to make those about them feel at ease and pleased with themselves. It was this happy feminine conspiracy which made Southern society so pleasant.  - Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind

Once when I was in junior high, a couple of teenage girls rang our doorbell.  I was the only one home at the time and answered the door.  "Can we use your bathroom?" they innocently asked. "We were just riding around and had to go."  This might seem an odd request these days but back in the 1970's and living in a small town, it seemed perfectly normal.  When you gotta go, you gotta go.  So I led them to the master bathroom but noticed they were glancing around the house, as if hoping to find someone else there.  Suspicions aroused, I eavesdropped while they were in the restroom and overheard them whispering about my brother John.  Apparently my brother was a hot prospect back in the day and they had used the bathroom scenario as a ruse to run into him.  That night at the supper table, I could hardly wait to regale my family with the story of our visitors and how I knew the only reason they stopped by our house was to see John.  Thinking I was so smart I declared, "I should have just told them I knew what they were up to and to get out!"  Well, my father, who was a man of few words, jerked his head up from his plate and gave me THE look.  You know what I'm talking about. The look that permeates your body so that you are certain you are about to spontaneously combust. Scolding me he said, "Any person who sets foot in this house is a guest and you will always treat them that way, no matter what their reason for being here."  It was a lesson in manners that was burned into my psyche.

We Southerners, especially people from the Delta, are known for our impeccable manners.  A friend once surmised that we're taught manners from the breast.  "Yes ma'am," "No sir," "Please" and "Thank you" are part of the vernacular and flow from the tongue instinctively.  Everyone who enters your home is considered a guest and is offered a drink or invited to supper. Even if we don't like you, we will kill you with kindness.

As part of the feminine conspiracy, Southern women have become adept at tactfulness, something I never mastered.  I realized this when one of my previous bosses, upon my leaving the firm, gave me as a gift the book Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady.  I'm not certain he realized the book was about a woman who was raised in a Southern family, attends Ole Miss and finally acknowledges that she is a lesbian.  I'm pretty sure it was just a nod to the title and a "wink, wink" to the fact that I was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a Southern belle.  I'm loud and unfiltered which doesn't always come off well, especially in the South.

Southerners don't really come out and say what we mean - we talk around something.  We are as proficient at transmitting secret messages as the Navajo code talkers.  I once had a conversation with a friend about her visit to a new acquaintance's home.  "The whole house was decorated in Lilly Pulitzer!" she exclaimed, aghast.  She elaborated further and I quickly realized we weren't really talking about the decor of this woman's home but the fact that she was a Yankee trying to pose as a Southerner and would never fit in my friend's social circle.  Of course, my friend would never come right out and say that.  No upstanding Southerner would.  But we will bless your heart and stab you in the back simultaneously.
   

As karma would have it, I've been on the receiving end of this code on many occasions.  In my case the comments usually relate to my physical attributes.  Southern belles, even the failures, are supposed to be presentable at all times and looking our best.  You don't ever want anyone to comment that you look like you've been rode hard and put up wet.  Of course, they would never say that to your face.

Unfortunately in my case, menopause and thyroid problems (I swear) have not been my friends.  Let's just say that the freshman forty that plagued me in college has made a return visit.  The changes in my physical appearance haven't been lost on friends and family.  Most of their veiled observations about me fall into three categories:  weight, hair and my sartorial taste.

1.  Weight:

"Has the doctor gotten your Synthroid dosage straightened out?"  I get this question every time I go home.  It's usually followed by a comment regarding my weight gain.  I know deep down that they are really concerned with my health.

"You're so . . . curvy!  How did that happen?"  This one actually made me chuckle.  My response was "I eat a helluva lot and drink too much wine!"  As noted above, were I a true Southern belle, I would have had a more subtle response.

"I didn't recognize you now that you're skinny!"  I'm not sure but did you just insult me???  This occurred after a stint with Weight Watchers.  A prime example of a back-handed compliment. Southerners are experts at these.

2.  Hair

"You're a blonde now!"  Your friends want you to know that they know you color your hair.  Apparently my stylist got it wrong.

"Your hair is so long!"  Everyone knows you are not supposed to wear your hair past your shoulders after age 40 unless you are a movie star.  I think this came from the Bible.

"Your hair looks better from the back.  Maybe you can walk into the church backwards."  I was told this about an hour before attending a family member's wedding.  In my defense, I actually paid for that bad up-do.

3.  Apparel:

"You had that same dress on last time I saw you.  It's so cute."  In reality they're wondering if my spouse and I are having financial problems and can't afford a suitable collection of clothing for myself.  The cute comment really takes some of the sting out of it.

"That's an interesting outfit" or my personal favorite, "You have to be careful wearing a dress like that."  What they really want to say is that they can't believe I came out in public looking that way. My wardrobe choice was wrong.  Really wrong.

Let's face it.  I am a work in progress.  Part of my problem is that I strive way too hard to be the perfect Melanie, the perfect Southern belle and usually just end up a hot mess.  I should just accept my shortcomings because my flaws give me character and depth.  Well, thanks for letting me rant.  I hope it gave you a good laugh.  By the way, you look much prettier when you smile.

Your Failures to Try

"Our ability to adapt is amazing.  Our ability to change isn't quite as spectacular."  Lisa Lutz

What is it about change that sometimes throws us for a loop, makes us question our life choices, and gives us sleepless nights?  We like our routines.  Wake up, exercise, shower, IV of coffee, commute (swearing under breath), work, work, more work, fight traffic (more swearing), pick your cereal for dinner, go to bed, wake up, do it all again.  No surprises, no curve balls.  We become like androids, never deviating from the program.  But for some reason, we derive comfort from our regimen.

One day, as if awakening from a coma, I declared out of the blue "I think I'll quit my job." My husband glanced my way momentarily and returned to watching his favorite Jackass episode.   In hindsight I believe he just thought it was a maniacal utterance, one that wouldn't have to be acknowledged because it was never going to happen.  "I'm really going to do it."  Whew.  It was out there.  And I meant it this time.

My husband and I continued our normal routine, never giving credence to my outburst.  But at work I was transformed.  Things that normally made me crazy slid right off my back.  A million assignments from my bosses?  No problem!  Having to learn an entirely new system to track my time?  Why not! Working another 10 hour day?  Piece of cake.  I knew it was all temporary because the words "I think I'll quit my job" had actually gone from my lips into the universe.  There was no going back.  I was going to quit.  One day.  I swear.

That one day arrived.  I was ready to jump into the abyss of unemployment.  Hadn't I declared I was going to quit six months ago?  By golly, I did it!  I later sent a text to my husband that I had gone through with it and given my notice.  "Great" was all I received in reply.  Somehow I don't think he really meant it.

On the surface, my husband was supportive.  We went to dinner at a nice restaurant with friends and celebrated my "retirement" with expensive wine and toasts.  He said all the right things.  "You deserve a break."  "We'll be fine."  But as my final day at work approached, the dialogue became different.  He started saying random things like "We need to do about $50,000 of repairs to the house."  Really?  Did I miss some natural disaster?  "Do we really need a maid?"  Are you kidding me?  I live with 2 men and a dog.  We could qualify for an episode of Hoarders.  "How much do you spend on wine a month?"  Back off, buddy.  How much did you spend on those 3 motorcycles and 2 race cars?  You really want to go there?  "Do you want to be cremated or buried?"  WTH?

So here I am.  Unemployed, week dos.  And I have to admit, I'm kinda bored. (Don't tell my husband.)  I went from working 50-60 hour weeks on complex cases with grueling deadlines to taking 2 hour naps in the afternoon.  It doesn't help that it's rained everyday for the past month and I've been trapped inside my house.  There's only so many closets to clean out, only so many wreaths you can make for your front door, only so many episodes of Arrested Development that you can binge watch  I updated my LinkedIn profile but I wasn't sure what to list as my profession.  Bored housewife?  Aspiring writer?  Party planner extraordinaire?  Who am I?  It's hard to know when you're 52 and your whole life has been defined by your former job or as someone's mom.  

I have a friend who's mantra is "No change is good change."  For the longest time I believed that or better yet, convinced myself that he was right - no change is good.  I now see it for what it was - a defense mechanism for staying the course and not challenging myself.  To be quite honest, I've never really failed at anything because I've never stepped out in faith and tried something unconventional. I was too scared.  What would my friends and family think?  Would they laugh at me?  Are they reading this blog and thinking it's lame?   I don't think I care any more.  It's time to try.

My father had a poem hanging on his law office wall for over 50 years.  He just recently gave it to my son who is about to venture out on his own and attempt to fulfill his lifelong dream.  I'm taking the words to heart as well.

"Your Failures to Try" by Tom Q. Ellis

If you honestly tried but you honestly failed in
  a cause that you knew was worthwhile;

If your good faith was questioned, your motives assailed,
  you can meet these assaults with a smile.

True values of life that lend strength to the soul
  are not measured by public acclaim;

If you played the game square but fell short of the goal;
  you're a winner tho' losing the game.
The failures you make after giving your best,
  oft are blessings that come in disguise;

Your courage to try is the infinite test
  that your failure to try but denies.
When life's ledger is closed and all failures must bide,
  to be scanned by the All-Seeing Eye,
He'll condemn not the failures you made when you tried,
  but rather your failures to try.