Baseball is back

The Earth has righted itself on its axis once again with the 2009 baseball season well and truly launched with a grand Opening Day game at AT&T Park and a win for the Giants, who scored 10 runs to the Brewers' 6. The weather forecast was dire—rain, thunderstorms, possibly even hail—and indeed, it rained on our way down to SF, and poured on our way home. But not a drop fell during the game. Rather, we were blessed with beautiful clouds mixed with blue skies and almost no wind, making our bleacher seats very pleasant. The fans were happy, the beer and cha-cha bowl were delicious, and a good time was had by all (except possibly by the Brewers).

The day in pictures . . .

I got a Matt Cain bobblehead in my Mystery Grab Bag!

These two know how to show their love.

The four fan-atics

These guys call themselves the Rat Pack and sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch. The one portraying Dino was truly bizarre.

Matty's got his game face on.

March Fools' Tour

Back home from a wonderful, four-plus days of bicycling through Yolo, Solano, Napa, Sonoma and Marin counties, with a brief stay in the city and county of San Francisco last night and this morning before heading home via ferry and Amtrak. The riding was tough, particularly the first two days as we fought a vicious north wind—imagine climbing a steep and endless hill, mile after mile after mile, and you'll have a vague inkling—but by Day 3 we had a tailwind as we rode southwest from Cloverdale toward Bodega Bay, and the climbing along the coast from Bodega to SF was made a lot easier by that same wind. All told, I rode 268 miles; not bad, if I do say so, myself.

It was a terrific trip, with great accommodations, excellent food, congenial companions and outstanding scenery. The wildflowers were at their peak, and now that I have some distance between me and those horrific windy days, all I really recall is how beautiful the route was. Riding amesia: Like giving birth, once it's over, the pain is forgotten as you contemplate the incredibly wonderful outcome. Lifted my spirits immeasurably.

Lupine, Suisun Valley Road, Solano County

March 30, 2009

Behold, the perfect chair

A year or so ago, I test-drove The Perfect Chair at Davis Lumber (aka Davis Ace). It fit me exactly, it glided and swiveled and reclined, and one of its best features was that the back was high enough to keep my head from whiplashing if—make that when—I fell asleep reading. It wasn't cheap, though, and I didn't have the money to buy it. But every time I went into the store, I sat in it again, even showed it to my sister when she was here last year; she concurred that it was, indeed, The Perfect Chair. I have wanted a good reading chair for years. And I vowed that if I ever could afford it, I would order it.

Today, thanks to a story I wrote for UC Davis Magazine, I went to Davis Lumber, plunked down $614.16, and purchased The Perfect Chair. Here's the fabric:
It'll be ready in 5 or 6 weeks, according to Kyle, the very helpful guy at Davis Lumber, who put up with my hovering over the order form to make sure he got it right. I will probably have to rearrange my living room once it arrives. I can't wait.

Kosher ham

The Purim spiel was performed last night, and it was a hoot and a half. Purim commemorates the rescue of the Jews from being annihilated by Haman, the right-hand man (think Dick Cheney) of Ahasuerus, king of Persia, back, oh, a really long time ago. The entire story is recounted in the Book of Esther, which is read in its entirety from a scroll (a megillah) on the 14th day of the Jewish month of Adar. (And now you know where the expression "the whole megillah" comes from.) It's a very festive holiday; people dress up in costume or wear silly hats, and every time Haman's name is mentioned, it's greeted with boos and twirling "groggers," noisemakers that make a "rrrr-rrr-rrr" sound.

Until this year, the only Purim spiels I'd seen were performed by our rabbi with the aid of kids in the congregation—cute, and always corny (the rabbi being an inveterate punster) but mostly for the kids. Not this time. We now have a cantor, and he directed this year's production of The Megillah According to the Beatles—the story of Esther set to tunes from the Sgt. Pepper's album.

I wish I had photos to post here, but I didn't think to take my camera along, and I don't know if anybody in the cast got any pictures taken, either. Oh well; suffice it to say I made a lovely ’60-style serving girl and, following a quick change into black pants, an overlarge dark gray suit jacket, brown shirt, red tie, black hat and black gloves, I made a downright intimidating-looking Mafia hit man, especially if you saw that hammer in my hands. Then it was back to the serving-girl outfit.

I never used to think of myself as someone who enjoys performing, but I always surprise myself with how much I like getting up on stage and hamming it up, particularly in these sorts of "silly" things, where exaggeration is part of the whole idea and it's done before a sympathetic audience who can scarcely complain, particularly as they didn't pay any admission and didn't volunteer, themselves. How I'd be in a "real" play is a whole other question. But I did have a grand time last night.

Tush training

Getting back into riding shape involves more than building up endurance in my legs and hands and arms and lungs. The part that's in contact with the saddle also gets soft with disuse and requires toughening up. Bag Balm* helps. A lot.

*Bag Balm: A thick, viscous ointment which comes in a square, green tin and whose primary ingredient is essentially Vaseline. It's manufactured by the Dairy Association Co., Inc. (since 1899!), in Lyndonville, Vt., to "help keep dairy cows from becoming chapped from the harsh Vermont environment." The instructions read, in part: "After each milking, apply thoroughly and allow coating to remain on surface." It's equally good as a tush protectant. Ask any long-distance cyclist.

Doin' the overcommitment tango

I've got way too much to do for too many projects. I'd like to say I don't know how I manage to find myself in this predicament, but it happens too often for me to play the innocent. I don't think ahead, I don't say "no" often enough, and I fail to ask for details when someone says, "Oh, this won't take a lot of your time" or "This will be fun!" Uh-huh.

So I said yes to being in the Purim spiel. Fun, sure, but I should have considered I'd need to go to rehearsals as well as show up for the performance. And nobody mentioned the need for getting costume and props together until after I'd agreed to be a serving girl/assassin/woman in the crowd, and that I had to write my lines on 3x5 cards because it's likely I won't remember them so need something to prompt me besides an 8-1/2x11 script. The show is this Saturday evening, and though it is, indeed, fun (most of the time), I'll be glad when it's over, and I can get on with all the other stuff I've committed to, like getting all the Davis Double Century registration information up on the Web site so riders can actually sign up, working with the bike club's Web guy on the site's redesign, working three mornings a week, preparing my friend Lisa's manuscript for self-publishing, and oh yeah, getting on my bicycle and riding so I can make that 500-miles-in-March goal. This doesn't even take into account errands, laundry, getting my bike repaired, all the usual "gotta-get-those-things-done-soon" stuff.

I realize that for many people (you know who you are, Pica), this list will seem paltry. But the fact remains that I really don't like having so many things to do. Or, rather, I do like having lots of things to do, but I don't want any of them to be tied to specific times, dates and places. Having something on the calendar that requires my presence makes me nervous and looking for a way to get out of it. Most of the time, though, I can't bow out gracefully, so I go reluctantly, and then have a perfectly fine time once I'm there. So it's not the thing, itself, that I dislike, just that it's scheduled. Ad hoc is my friend.

Après moi, le déluge

I was awake and up at 5 a.m., and by 7, it wasn't raining. So, since I'm behind on my daily quota of miles (a paltry total of 3 since March 1), I decided to head out for a quick 15 or so on the Tour de Trash. Wind from the south was muscular, and the sky had plenty of clouds, but nothing dire-looking, so riding north up to Rd. 29 was a literal breeze. A bit more strenuous once I turned east on the dump road, but the sun was shining through the clouds ahead of me, and I stopped several times to watch a couple of raptors hanging around the slough (a kite, I think, and what I hoped was an osprey but was probably just a redtail). Discussed the news of the day with a couple of young bovines . . .


and goggled at the swarm of gulls roiling above the landfill, giving it the appearance of an enormous disturbed anthill.


Then I looked in my rearview mirror . . .


OMG! Quick! Ride! Ride fast! You're still 7 miles from home!

I almost made it. If I lived east of the dump instead of west, I might have outrun it, but as I had to ride into that dark maw, I started getting wet about 2 miles from home. Luckily, the real downpour didn't start until I was safely in the house. (I tried to get a picture of that, too, but it's hard to take a photo of rain.) (It's pouring again—hard— as I write this. 9 hours later.) So I got my 14 miles, getting only a little wet, and even survived being chased by a couple of dogs—naturally, I was riding into the teeth of the wind at that point and wasn't able to outrun the black one, who nipped my right shoe befoe heading back to his lair. I really do not like dogs.

Oh, and somewhere out there on the road, my cyclometer turned over 7,000 miles. I was so focused on getting home, I didn't even notice and so missed the fist-pumping opportunity.

It is dumping out there. Mr. Noah, call your office . . .

Marching on

March means March Madness—not the NCAA basketball kind, the bicycling kind, in which Davis Bike Club members pledge to ride a whole lot of miles in one month, the total miles ridden translating into a penny per mile to purchase helmets for kids whose families don't have the money to buy them themselves. This year, I expect there will be more kids needing them.

In any event, I've committed to ride 500 miles this March. Seeing as how I've been on my road bike exactly four times since the beginning of 2009, racking up a whopping 83 miles in toto, I will be challenged to make it. As incentive, I've signed up (and paid for. so I can't back out) a four-day tour beginning Sunday, the 29th. There will be hills, so I'll have to train. Hope the rain stops pretty soon, otherwise I could be in the same fix these guys were in a couple of weeks ago . . .

Amgen Tour of California riders crossing Stevenson's Bridge in the rain
Feb. 15, 2009

Rude awakening

The first thought that entered my head when I woke up on this Day 2 of Barack Obama's presidency was, what if he can't do it? What if, despite his best and sincerest efforts, he is too young, too inexperienced, the problems—and the world—too big and complex? This, of course, is what I would be feeling were I were the one who had found herself elected President of these United States, stepping into the Oval Office and thinking, oh my God, what the hell am I doing here? (Come to think of it, this is similar to what I was feeling the day after I got married—the wedding was fun and kind of a fairy tale-come-true thing, but it didn't take long for the finality of the whole business to sink in in a decidedly uneasy way.)

I didn't invite that thought into my head this morning, but it was there, and it hung around for a bit after I first got up and got the coffee started. Then I listened to NPR and heard that the President had already begun working on the country's business, getting right to it in his quiet, smart way, and I knew he, and we, were going to be OK. Yes, we will.

N.B.: Alison gently reminded me that Aretha Franklin sang "America" (aka, "My Country 'Tis of Thee") at the Inauguration, not, as I said in yesterday's post, the National Anthem. I stand corrected, and plead special leniency, as I think "America" would make a fine replacement for our current anthem, almost as good as my first choice, "America the Beautiful." 

What a day!

And now, we have a new President! Barack Hussein Obama was inaugurated this morning before about 2 million joyous Americans who filled the D.C. Mall, and 11 more who filled my living room, sitting on the couch, on dining chairs and folding chairs, eating lox and bagels, English muffins, and toaster waffles, watching MSNBC and hanging on to every word of the ceremony.

When the Oath of Office had been administered (John Roberts managing to scramble it) and nevertheless gracefully taken, we raised our glasses of Champagne in a rousing toast to our new President. Some of us cried buckets as Aretha Franklin began to sing our National Anthem. We sang along with her! We cheered! We talked! We laughed! We said a few less-than-complimentary words about the 43rd President as he—at last!—left the building, decided that seeing his Vice President being wheeled away in a wheelchair couldn't have been better scripted, and were grateful beyond words to see the back of them.

And once again, I was struck by the elegance of our system of government, by the wisdom of the Framers, who crafted a Constitution that allows such an orderly transfer of power from one leader to the next. No coup, no disruption, no chaos. We have a new Chief of State, a new Commander-in-Chief, we changed from a Republican to a Democratic President, and yet after all that, I could leave my house to walk downtown, and everything was peaceful and orderly, people riding their bicycles, driving their cars, shopping, eating, going about their business as usual. I am so lucky, and so grateful, to be an American. What a country . . . and what a wonderful new President we have been blessed to elect. Mazel tov, Barack!

The E Street Inaugural Ball

(Standing) Phil, Joseph, Milt, Allan
(Seated) Dorothy, Gishi, Lorna, Stacy, Alison, Robin

Inauguration eve

Nine more hours, and we'll have a new President. I'm filled with anticipation, delight, excitement, gratitude, joy, thanksgiving . . . and a small frisson of apprehension. My prayer tonight, as it's been every night since Election Night: Baruch haShem, please keep him, and us, safe. And let tomorrow bring a new day of hope.

I am not making this up

According to a story in yesterday's New York Times, President Bush's stand-in at Sunday's Inauguration rehearsal was Army Sgt. Bruce Cobbeldick. This cannot be mere happenstance. 

Julie

The headline in today's Davis Enterprise read, "Farewell, Julie," over a 1999 photo of six mayors of Davis, Julie Partansky in the foreground. "Oh," I thought, "Julie's leaving Davis; that's a surprise." Then I read the story's subhead: "Former Mayor Partansky, a seminal figure in Davis politics, dies at 61." Of stage 4 lung cancer, diagnosed just five weeks ago.

Fey, funny, talented, dedicated Julie. For me, she occupied that more than a casual acquaintance, less than a friend place, our circles overlapping owing mostly to our mutual connections to others: Davis' progressive, lefty politics, or sometimes at the synagogue. I didn't see her often, but when we'd encounter one another at the Co-op, or downtown someplace, or at the Farmers Market, we'd always say hello and chat for just a brief moment. She had the sweetest smile.

Julie was ridiculed, maligned, dismissed by many in our town, but her seemingly whimsical or impractical ideas have been shown to make perfect sense: a dark-sky ordinance to keep light pollution from blotting out the stars; riding our bicycles instead of driving. Her first foray into the public eye came because she protested the city's plan to pave the alleyways that bisect several blocks here in my Old North Davis neighborhood. "We like our alleys," Julie said. "We have flowers planted there, and vegetables. Leave them alone." She won that battle, keeping the alley behind my house from becoming a shortcut speedway for cars. It was the alleys that launched her campaign for City Council.

She didn't have pots of money, she didn't have influential connections, she wasn't a career politician, using her city council seat as a launching pad to bigger and better things. She just loved this town, cared about its future, could see where rampant growth would take it, and in her own quiet, determined way, she kept the council, and us, focused on what mattered. I never heard her be mean. She just knew what was right.

So long, Julie; you left us way too soon.

Changing the decor

The West Sacramento office of Social Security has two photos on the wall, one on either side of the agency logo. The one to the left is of George W. Bush, the other is of Dick Cheney. Both of them look impossibly, improbably young, W. the more so, who looks like the frat boy he was (in some ways, still is; Cheney not so, but the trademark smirk is there, front and center.

I'd already noticed in recent days, seeing Bush on TV, how much he's aged in the past eight years; not just looking older but tireder, worn out. And seeing him and Barack standing next to one another in the Oval Office, along with the three ex-presidents, revealed again, in high relief, Obama's youthful vigor compared to the rest. But it makes me wonder . . . what will he look like when four years have gone by . . . or eight?

Regardless, it'll sure be nice to have some new photos up on the walls of federal offices. Ten more days . . .

Christmas, and a birthday

My son and his family being off to Santa Fe for the holiday to celebrate Fred and Jen's 10th anniversary, I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my friend Dorothy in Santa Cruz, at the home of Dorothy's ex-husband's third wife, Greta (and no, I'm not going to elaborate on this), along with Greta's daughter, Alison, Dorothy's son and d-in-law and granddaughters, and a couple of other folks related distantly and not-so. And although I had no family there, myself, I couldn't have felt more at home nor had a nicer time. Weather was cold and unsettled, shifting from rain to bright sun and back again, but inside the house it was warm and cozy, with lots of good food and conversation. Christmas Eve dinner was salmon; Christmas Day, we had a pork tenderloin. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring along my camera on Christmas Eve, but here's Christmas . . .

Pork tenderloin, with fennel and fuyu persimmons

The really beautiful dinner table

Just before we sat down to dinner, we lit the menorah for the fifth night of Hanukkah . . .


Today, December 30, would have been my son John's 45th birthday. No way to know what he would have been like had he lived, but I'm betting by now his hair would be gray, just like his father's, grandfather's and uncle's was at that age. Happy birthday, son; you're always in my heart.

Stormy Sunday

First real winter weather came in this morning; not a hard rain, but kept up all day, and cold, much colder than it's been. A good day to stay inside, which is exactly what I did, bundled up in two sweaters, tights and wooly sox to stay warm while I read the paper. All day long. It was a treat I don't usually allow myself, and it felt just fine.

I did venture out this evening, though, to a gathering instigated by the Obama campaign folks and organized by a woman here in Davis. About 20 or so of us met at her home in North Davis to discuss how we want to help the President-Elect both now and after January 20. After offering information on who we might know in national and/or local politics and in media (the idea being to compile a source list of influential contacts that may be helpful in moving Obama's agenda forward), we listed the issues we think deserve attention by the new administration. It was a long list, headed by the Iraq war and continuing on through health care, closing Guantanamo, education, the economy, food policy, and national service. There were more, and though all are important, it seemed pretty clear to us that if we can stop spending $10 billion a month in Iraq and get the economic recovery program jump-started, there might just possibly be some money for the rest of the stuff to happen.

It was a smart, involved group; many of them had been quite active in the campaign and a number of them are folks who have been rubbing elbows with local pols for a long time. Despite having lived in Davis for more than 30 years and being active in a couple of city council and ballot issue campaigns, I've never been among the politcos here in town. It's never interested me much to be that "connected." But it's good that some people are, I guess. Anyway, this particular meeting this evening was one of 4,000 taking place all around the country this weekend, a start by Obama to fulfill his commitment to involve us, the citizens, in working for change. It's been a long time since a president asked us to do anything other than shop, so this is both an opportunity and a challenge. Obama is right in saying he can't do it alone. If it's change I want, I need to help make it happen.

Moonshine

After what has felt like weeks and weeks of foggy and overcast days, with only moments of soon-disappearing sunshine, today began clear and stayed clear. All day long. Bright blue sky. Crisp air. And topping it off, the celestial cherry on the cake, an almost-full, almost-Winter Solstice moonrise.

Going green in flames

Coming home from Woodland on Hwy 113 yesterday afternoon, a pale green Prius approached me from behind. "Nice color," I thought, putting the mottled-looking hood down to my less-than-clean rear window. Then the Prius passed me and I saw the real reason for the odd-looking paint. Flames, gold ones, painted on the hood and front fenders.

Prius as hot stock car—Detroit, are you listening?

Bias

My cousin sent me a good piece from the Los Angeles Times on confirmation bias, which you can read here. I've been aware of confirmation bias in myself (one of the perils of living in Davis, where "everybody" is a Democrat). And I've made vows to myself to read opposing (i.e., Republican) opinion and viewpoints, but so far, the only opposition voice I can stomach is David Brooks. Will it be different once He Who Regrettably Is Still President is finally gone and Obama is in the White House? And if so, will it be because my President is a pragmatist who wants diverse opinion or because at last MY guy is in charge and I can be charitable toward those who are no longer running things?

Thanksgiving weekend recap

As promised, photos and notes from Thanksgiving Day, plus the rest of the weekend . . .

The pre-dinner "hike" (a walk, really):
Despite the cloudy, overcast day, lots of other people besides Susan and me thought this was a good idea, but it wasn't anywhere near as crowded as Disneyland, and everyone seemed to be having a lovely day—grandparents, parents, kids, dogs, boyfriends and girlfriends—and though the vistas were limited, it was still a beautiful walk, especially the eucalyptus, with their peeling bark . . .
I turned around at the 2-mile marker, knowing I would have done 4 miles by the time I got back to the car and happy to have made it that distance despite the creaky hip and only a bit of limping . . .
Susan is a much stronger/faster hiker than I, so when I turned around she sprinted on up the trail a bit farther to check out whether the Nike missile site was still there (the missile site being the reason for this paved "trail" (a road, really). She didn't find it, but only because she'd miscalculated our location and the thing was much farther on. Here's Susan; it's astonishing how accomplished she is despite having no hands . . . ;-)

So, back to the car and on to Marilyn's, who is Susan's stepmother. Her live-in helper, CeeCee, and CeeCee's neice, Olla, were joining us for dinner, but first we had wine and a delicious crab mold made by Marilyn. Alas, no photo of the crab mold and its accompanying Ritz crackers, but here are CeeCee, Susan and Olla . . .

and Susan and Marilyn . . .
Time to go to dinner, which, as has become tradition, was at Hs Lordship's, a restaurant on the Berkeley marina.
(N.B.: This is pronounced "His Lordship's" even though there is no "i" in the "Hs"; note also the absence of an apostrophe in "Lordship's." I have no idea what these people were thinking.)

This is a buffet-style place, with just about every style of cuisine you might fancy: freshly made sushi, omelettes, cracked crab, peel-and-eat shrimp (my personal favorite), innumerable salads, plus the traditional roast turkey, roast beef and ham and the not-so-traditional catfish and shrimp in a tomato-y sauce (yummy), and of course mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, mixed steam veg, stuffing, gravy . . . and then there's dessert, again ranging from the traditional pie, cake, bread pudding, flan, to the odd (individually packaged Rice Krispy Treats—a perennial kid favorite). But the food's decent, and there's certainly plenty of it. We had a table next to a window facing out across the bay toward the City, where we could watch the light change on the water. The clouds didn't obscure any of the views, and it was a lovely evening.

Looking west, Golden Gate Bridge across the bay

San Francisco, Thanksgiving evening

As for the rest of the weekend, did a couple of bike rides, walked in the Arboretum, and saw the latest James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, which was predictable, but who cares—it was fun, and you always know that Bond will come out OK in the end. I think I like Daniel Craig's Bond best of all the ones who've played the role; he's got a less-than-perfect face, which I find interesting. Two surprises from this one, first, none of the usual-issue "gadgets" that ordinarily are in evidence, and (best for me) some of it filmed in Siena, in the piazza. A treat to see it—it was one of my favorite cities when we did the bike tour in 2006. Ciao!