Cheaper Than Therapy

A winter's walk

Luckily I didn't know how cold it was before we set out for town. But, actually, it felt a lot warmer than the 19 degrees I found out it was when my friend txt-messaged me.  And it was a beautifully bright and sunny day, so it was good to get out.

This is just a little snow alley we passed a block or so from our house.

Jackson tries in vain to escape the camera.

The bookstore was closed so we cut through the Coldwater Creek store and crossed the bridge...to get to the other side. Jackson warned me that there were a lot of birds up there and lots of stuff on the ground so I'd better watch myself. Such a concerned boy.

What you see when you look north from the bridge. Yes, it's as big as a river, but it's called Sand Creek.

What you see when you look south from the same spot.

This is the bridge we're standing on. This picture was taken about this time last year when we came to see if Sandpoint lived up to all the hype.  We think so.

Once you're across the bridge, you're just this side of the railroad tracks and the train station is to your left.  Straight ahead is the new Seasons resort and pricey home development on the lake. 

We walked down the path to the creek's edge. We've had a week of frigid temperatures and it is frozen.  Just as Jackson was running out on the ice jumping up and down scaring me to death, and trying to crack the ice with sticks and rocks (to no avail, thank goodness), my camera battery quit. (Maybe my txt-messaging mentor can send me some of the images I captured and sent via my cell phone?) We continued our frozen ice exploration on the other side of the tracks at Main Beach down by the lake, where in the summer the kids swim out to chained logs and try to knock each other off. Then, quite literally freezing our asses off, we went to the Beach House restaurant for an unremarkable lunch.  Starbucks didn't have any Sunday NYTs, so we ambled on home.

Jackson and the newest member of the family

Though at times he is psycho cat, it is mostly pretty wonderful having another being around the house.  The little brother Jackson always wanted.

Life in the Panhandle

This was the backyard last week, after our first real snowstorm of the season. That’s about 8” accumulation on the picnic table. Taken from inside the backdoor, thank you very much.

I’ve heard that most children take great delight in making the first snow angels of the season. There aren’t any ethereal angels to show off, but I was greeted by this charming site when I glanced down from the same backdoor. 

You can just barely see tell-tale men's size 8 boot prints.  Curiously the size Jackson wears now.

Jackson swears he doesn’t know how those golden impressions got there. Perhaps some low-flying northern Idaho bird species we’re not familiar with.

On a prettier note, here’s the view from, again, inside, this time from warm side of the living room window. The pears make nice frosted ornaments on the tree.

The icicles are everywhere. They are much longer and more menacing-looking now, particularly when they seem to be growing in toward the house.

I think Denise gave me this cute door hanger last year.  I put it outside on the front porch, not that the snow gods need any encouragement. 

Speaking of the front porch (nice segue, huh?) Jackson has been doing an amazing job of helping to keep the steps, walkways and driveway cleared of snow.

We have a guy who (eventually) comes by with the snowblower for the really big stuff, but there’s still quite a bit of chilly maintenance to be done just so I can get in and out of the driveway. Luckily I'm still nursing that sprained ankle so he'll have to continue to shoulder that burden. The recovery could well last into spring, I think, at least when I'm home. Otherwise, I'm 99.5% healed.

This week has been nice & sunny, and it doesn’t feel as cold as it sounds ~ highs in the low teens and lows in the lower single digits. Minus 2 degrees yesterday, I think, as Jackson trudged off to school. But it’s a ‘dry’ cold and thankfully not windy. Still, you can believe I was online shopping snow pants, lined pants, long underwear, thick ski socks, a balaclava (one of those full-face hooded neck covering things that only your eyes show through) that very morning. I may order some things for Jackson, too, once I try them out. He loves the cold and won’t even let me give him a ride to school. Mainly because he likes to be on time. He can’t wait to get his snow “skateboard” (hint, hint Camron), because lots of kids use them to get to school.

He has one weird quirk right now, totally normal for an 11-year-old, (and it could be a lot worse, I know): he swears he’s going to wear his green Gap hoodie sweatshirt every day to school all year. It’s his “thing.”  He has several nice new hooded sweatshirts, mind you, but it has to be this getting-pretty-ratty green one. Yes, he does change his other clothes. Yes, he does wear a very warm jacket, hat and gloves. He’s even learned to do his own laundry. Love that.

This was taken this morning. It was so clear and sunny. About 5 degrees, I think. You can sort of see our Christmas tree, which will reside on the front porch until we take it inside next weekend. It's in a pot, and we'll plant it next spring. (She says optimistically.)

At least I got the lights on it! Aren’t they nice and gaudy?

We had a nice surprise when we got home, a box from Mom & Dad. Jackson ripped into it and was thrilled to find a couple of things marked “open now.” He needed no more encouragement than that. 

One was this oh-too-cute piano-playing snowman. Hmmm, wouldn’t it be a generous gesture for Jackson to take it to school to share with his classmates up until the holiday break (or indefinitely?) Just kidding. We've already found just the right spot for it.

And then Jackson spied the oversized donut-shaped foil- wrapped package with the all-important“open now” note.  “I know what this is,” he declared triumphantly. “It’s Mima’s most world famous recipe.”  He had to have some right then so we declared it a dessert-before-dinner night and both had two pieces. 

Yum. 

He said he knows what he’s having for breakfast the next few days.  If there’s any left after tonight, that is. 

Thanks, Mom ~ standing around in the kitchen can’t be the most comfortable thing right now and we really appreciate having this great family tradition treat, the "world-famous" sour cream coffee cake.

Note: why the font size is jumping around I have no idea.  The more they "improve" Typepad to make it more user-friendly, the more frustrating it becomes to those of us who learned things the old way.

Truck Lust

Maybe I've been wearing my cowboy boots a little too often.  Maybe it's the environment.  Or maybe it's the thrice-weekly trips to Hope Depot, as I inadvertently referred to it in a recent email to my husband, the subject being my surprise at finding an entire aisle of drill bits, and my subsequent dismay that not one had flashing lights and loud sirens announcing that it was precisely the right 1/8 inch drill bit for my Makita, a brand that doesn't seem to warrant much shelf space in these here parts.

Whatever the reason, I've had trucks on the brain.  Not just any old truck.  What I have in mind is an old, funky truck. (But one that, in my fantasy, is already beautifully restored and runs perfectly.) Kind of like the one Clint drove when he was romancin' Meryl in Bridges of Madison County. 

Besides the obvious aesthetic appeal, I want to be able to toss things into the back and not worry about it. Like flea market finds, furniture, a bike, or tree stumps, for example, like the ones I "found" last Sunday.

OK, I suppose liberated is the more appropriate way to put it.  I had walked into town to see what was supposed to be the demolition of a landmark building.

Beloved icon to some, dangerous eyesore to others, it's still the tallest building in town, and, decrepid or not, you have to admit it has a certain falling-down charm.

Had the demolition gone as planned, I would have missed it completely, as it had been scheduled for 6:30 a.m., not 10:30 a.m., which was when I sauntered by. Apparently some 200 townsfolk had gathered earlier, and an enterprising coffee and donuts seller, too.  But much to the crowd's chagrin, there were no explosions.  No bulldozers.  No heavy equipment of any kind. 

Later I read that it was your run-of-the-mill (pun gleefully intended!) delay, something about proper permits not being pulled.  Not the eleventh hour "Save the Old Grain Mill" governor's pardon that I had hoped for. 

Still, with the crowds long gone, the opportunity to poke around -- and how many more would there be? -- was irresistable. As I made my way toward the abandoned Panhandle Milling Co. Hi Quality Feeds Seeds building, unbidden thoughts raced through my mind.  Like how all this old wood could surely be put to (my own) good use. 

If only I had a truck.

It was at that exact moment that it kicked in. The truck lust.

If only I had a truck. No one would miss a few pieces of this old rotten wood, or even a truckload, for that matter.  They were just going to bulldoze it anyway, for cryin' out loud. It'd be kind of like a little souvenir. Everyone does that. I'd put on my work gloves, grab a few select planks, toss them in the bed of my truck, and speed off to my doesn't-exist workshop. Where I'd no doubt craft pricey "primitive" furniture made from the genuine remains salvaged from one of Idaho's oldest grain mills.

Oh, the sheet metal. I could envision how I'd use it to panel my unfinished garage, kind of This Old House meets Orange County Choppers.

And that fan.  It's a work of art in itself. 

Reassured by my creative duty, I ducked under the string roping off the perimeter, with barely a glance at the No Trepassing sign. Inside the not-quite-gutted structure were even more treasures. I was so involved imagining my interview with Katie, and the subsequent influx of new clients that I tripped on said genuine remains, narrowly avoiding a nasty encounter with some exposed nails.

I advanced more gingerly. So much raw material. 

If only I had a truck.

Not that I would ever give in to such evil thoughts. How's that for willpower? And luckily I had walked over.  Besides, there were limits to how much I could cram into the trunk and back (leather upholstered) seats of the Volvo.

I was about to leave the scene of my would-be-crime when my gaze landed on the tree stumps. I picked one up.  It wasn't as heavy as it looked.  My eyes narrowed.  They would be mine. They would become found Zen sculptures. Truck or no truck.  But why walk home shouldering a tree stump, which might arouse suspicion? Besides, I could only carry one at a time.  I wanted all five.

So later I returned, my heart racing, in the Volvo. It was still light. Clearly, desire had emboldened me. Amazingly, no one else was around.  Where were all the other bounty hunters? I hauled my stumps, one by one, flicking off dirt, spiders, and carpenter ants with uncustomary aplomb. Back home, gazing from the hammock at my stumps, I felt nothing short of triumphant. 

I know. I'm going straight to hell. 

That being the case, why go in a handbasket if I can go in a truck? And suddenly, it appeared. This very afternoon. I was driving with my son, whom I'd picked up at the Spokane International Airport earlier in the day. We were practically home, about 12 miles south of Sandpoint, when to my left I saw a brilliant flash of red metal and gleaming chrome, just resting there, waiting in a green meadow, as if in a dream. I slammed into the middle turn lane and spun a fine u-ee.

A gravel road took me to it.  I got out, and walked across the grass.  And there it was. Preening between the road and the entrance to the Cocolalla Corner Antiques shop, which I'd never even noticed before. (And a very nice shop it turned out to be, with an equally nice proprietor, Donna Johnson.)

Yes, a 1964 Ford F100.  A classic example of American automotive engineering and styling. And one of the best-selling trucks of all time.

You can imagine, then, my delight at seeing this:

Why the price was going up instead of down, I don't know.  I didn't care. Inside on the dash was another sign.  "It's going to be painted in April or May July or August, then the price goes up to $2,900."

Damn.  I called my husband as soon as I got back on the road. "You're not going to believe the truck I saw," I said. "This may be the one."

Oddly enough, in this strangely parallel life we lead, my husband had also spied a truck he thought would be perfect for me. A truck, as it turned out, that was also a Ford F100.  Random coincidence?  Perhaps.  Or are the transportation angels telling me to get my butt in gear before Earle Scheib gets a hold of it. The truck that is.

And now, more beauty shots. 

So there's a little paint damage.

And it needs a new windshield.

Just look at those wheels, those hub caps!

It even comes with the camper and an extra set of tires!

(To be continued.)

Pun Intended

From the 2005 International Pun Contest (via Mike Salisbury):

1. A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at him and says, "I'm sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger."

2. Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says "Dam!".

3. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.

4. Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says "I've lost my electron." The other says "Are you sure?" The first replies "Yes, I'm positive."

5. Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? His goal: transcend dental medication.

6. A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. "But why?" they asked, as they moved off. "Because", he said, " I can't stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer."

7. A woman has twins and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named "Ahmal." The other goes to a family in Spain; they name him "Juan." Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal. Her husband responds, "They're twins! If you've seen Juan, you've seen Ahmal."

8. These friars were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened up a small florist shop to raise funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, a rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town to "persuade" them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he'd be back if they didn't close up shop. Terrified, they did so, thereby proving that only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.

9. Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him ...(Oh, man, this is so bad, it's good)..... A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

10. And finally, there was the person who sent ten different puns to friends, with the hope that at least one of the puns would make them laugh.

No pun in ten did.

Snow strands travelers in New York

But luckily, I was not among them.

Times Square, Saturday, 12:30 AM, as viewed from the 41st floor at the Marriott Marquis, taken after I walked back to the hotel, (which was only a few blocks away, thank goodness,) following an excellent media dinner hosted by American Honda. It was great fun to catch up with old friends and meet new moto-journalists. It was also only 4 degrees.

Times Square Photo by Chip East/Reuters.This is what it looked like later that same day. Wind and snow made travel difficult as many flights from the three New York airports were cancelled for a second day in a row. (We had already gotten out of the city by this time.)

My colleague and I had arrived in Manhattan Thursday evening and checked into the Marriott Marquis. The front desk clerk happened to be a recent transplant from Fullerton, Calif. and she upgraded me to a room on the 41st floor directly overlooking Times Square. For reasons that go well beyond common courtesy, I always make it a practice to be friendly with the hotel staff. It has often paid off in just such a way.

Following a breakfast meeting Friday morning with a publisher, we headed over to the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center to get our media credentials for the Cycle World International Motorcycle Show. In addition to connecting with industry contacts and other manufacturing representatives, we cruised up and down every aisle, checking out all the vendors and exciting new products.

Then we had to make a decision whether to leave early or risk (with absolute certainty) being snowbound for days. I can’t say I didn’t hesitate, despite the dire storm predictions.

Hmmm. Stranded in a nice hotel with a great view, unlimited dining options, maid service, high-speed Internet access, hours of uninterrupted time to catch up on work and writing projects, plus a TV remote all to myself. What’s not to like?

Tempting as it was, there was no avoiding the fact that I needed to be back in the office Monday morning, so I agreed, glumly, that we should change our flights from Sunday to Saturday.

Good thing.

Flurries started, as predicted, right around noon yesterday. After a thorough de-icing routine that reminded me of a drive-through car wash, our 1:00 PM flight made it out only a few minutes behind schedule.

Others weren’t so lucky. According to today’s New York Daily News, “At Kennedy Airport, a cargo plane slid off the powder-coated runway around 3:30 p.m., but no injuries were reported. By midafternoon, nearly all passenger flights had been canceled at Kennedy, LaGuardia, and Newark airports, and it was unknown when they would be able to reopen.”

The article also reported that “…the National Weather Service said 13.8 inches fell in Central Park, 17.5 in Brooklyn, 16.5 in Farmingdale, on Long Island, and 19.6 in West Babylon.”

My colleague had never been to New York so we had to make the most of what little time we had. And since going to see the new MOMA wasn’t at the top of his list (as it was mine), we braved the frigid wind to walk a couple of blocks from the Convention Center up to Pier 83 where the famous and decidedly touristy Circle Line boats are docked. My husband, who lived in New York City off and on for nearly three decades and had more than his fill of showing visitors around, had recommended the Circle Line as one of the best ways to see some of the City’s most well-known landmarks.

He was right.

Here are some of my shots:

The two-hour semi-circle Circle Line tour starts at Pier 83 just north of Jacob K. Javits Convention Center and winds around to the East side of Manhattan up to the Queensboro Bridge before turning back around.

No, this wasn’t taken from a National Graphic article on Antarctica, this was the Hudson as the Captain eased our boat onto the river.

When we set out, it was brilliantly clear and bitingly cold.  (To say the least.)

That’s New Jersey on the left, and the George Washington bridge in the distance. And yes, lots of ice on the Hudson River.

The Empire State Building is stunningly omnipresent, and definitely worth the wait to go to the observation deck (which I did in December 2001.) It measures 1,453 feet, 8 9/16 inches tall to the top of the lightning rod. Now, of course, it’s the tallest building in New York.

There it is again, behind a dilapidated, abandoned Pier 64.

This one is for my Dad. I’m sure he’ll recognize what it is immediately, though I didn't – a driving range. At the Golf Club at Chelsea Piers, there are 52 heated and weather-protected hitting stalls on four levels, an automatic ball tee-up system, 200-yard, net-enclosed artificial turf fairway with distinct greens and hazards, two Full Swing Simulators, and the on-site Golf Academy. We couldn’t tell if anyone was out there on this particular day. It might have been the temperatures in the low teens and 35 mph winds that dissuaded them.

In 1913, the 60-story Woolworth Building, designed by American architect Cass Gilbert and visible here in the center of the image dwarfed by the surrounding structures, was the tallest in the world. If the Twin Towers were still standing, you wouldn’t be able to see it at all from this vantage point. The building to the left of the Woolworth Building, is, if I recall our guide’s comments correctly, the seventh tower of the World Trade Center, currently undergoing reconstruction.

Winter Garden, the glass structure in the foreground, is a huge space with a 120-ft high vaulted glass ceiling and sixteen 40 ft. tall palm trees, (yeah, so?) where free music, dance and theater productions are held regularly, and which was repaired amazingly quickly after the September 11th tragedy. A glass wall on the west side of the Winter Garden is said to be the best place to see Ground Zero.

With the winter afternoon sun glinting off highrise buildings, the view of the now uniform skyline, though still spectacular, just isn’t right, and never will be. The Twin Towers would have dominated this picture, reaching above the top of the frame, just about where the building with the crane is, roughly a third of the way over from the left.

At sunset and always, the Statue of Liberty offers a welcome and visceral reminder of our country’s strength, resilience, and commitment to freedom.

From the government website: Located on 12-acre Liberty Island in New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty was a gift of international friendship from the people of France to the people of the United States and is one of the most universal symbols of political freedom and democracy. The Statue of Liberty was dedicated on October 28, 1886 and was designated a National Monument on October 15, 1924. The Statue was extensively restored in time for her spectacular centennial on July 4, 1986.

Sailing under the spectacular Brooklyn Bridge, there's that pesky ol' Empire State building again, lit up in plain white lights.

Heading up towards the Queensboro Bridge, in this photo, Manhattan is on the right, and the Manhattan Bridge is in front of the Brooklyn Bridge. The Statue of Liberty is barely visible to the right of the thicker tower of the Brooklyn Bridge.

This sparkly cityscape includes my favorite Manhattan landmark, the distinctly art deco Chrysler Building, designed by architect William Van Alen, built between 1928 and 1930. It also has one of New York’s less photographed structures, the steaming power plant on the right.

Goodnight, New York City.

Countdown to a (Dysfunctional) Christmas

by Sheryl Van der Leun

UPDATE: An edited version of this article was published in the December 17 edition of the Laguna Beach Independent and was posted on American Digest.

P.S.  Of course, that was all weeks ago.  We did manage to get our tree decorated.  And Gerard put the lights up outside, so now our house looks like a cross between an Italian restaurant and a bordello.

We sold out of gift tags at the Holiday Boutique, though I confess I caved to my fear of the PTA leader and didn’t display the truly “dysfunctional” ones. There was quite a run on them, though, when Gerard posted downloadable versions on his website. Kinda warms your heart to know you’ve helped to share the Christmas spirit, even if in so very small a way.

I thought Jackson was going to have a breakdown when I told him I’d be making cookies from scratch since they were out of slice and bake dough at the grocery store.  “Mom, couldn’t you have tried a few more grocery stores first?” he moaned.  (They were delicious, by the way.)

Jackson successfully peddles gift tags for charity at Top of the World Elementary Holiday Boutique. The less than joyous expression is because his teacher had shared with me only moments before that the golden boy had not turned in numerous homework assignments.  The lack of video games and TV was going to put a serious crimp in his holiday plans.

Jackson took this at the Dana Point Harbor Boat Parade Saturday night. We were on a boat, waving to people lining the docks and bridges of the harbor, and decided that this is something we have to do every year. Especially if we're having unseasonably warm weather.

Countdown to a (Dysfunctional) Christmas

A gift tag from the Holiday Boutique project.  (This was one of the "normal" ones.)

I’d love to tell you that outside our house the lights are hung with restrained elegance; that bells tinkle when you walk through my fragrantly wreathed front door; and that the smell of freshly-baked gingerbread warms our charming abode, decorated as it is in this season’s must-have holiday jewel tones. I would brag about the majestic Douglas Fir brushing the cathedral ceiling of the living room, and how the presents – tenderly wrapped in handmade paper – promise magical moments of surprise and delight on Christmas morning. You’d know instantly that in this house holiday traditions abound and that this family truly treasures the spirit of Christmas.

But I’d be lying.

Testing for Orange Belt

Prior to taking his Orange Belt test, Jackson joined the U.S. Soo Bahk Do Moo Duk Kwan Federation. I just hope it’s a Martial Arts organization and not some fringe radical group.

He got a cool packet in the mail with his membership card, complete with the official signature and red seal of the President of the U.S. Soo Bahk Do Moo Duk Kwan Federation.

The test itself was much more demanding than I (or he) had anticipated, going nearly three hours non-stop, without even a break for water. Although we won't know officially until we get the results and scoring back from the U.S. Soo Bahk Do Moo Duk Kwan Federation (I just can’t say that enough. Well, actually I can’t say it at all, but I like the way it looks.), I’m confident that Jackson passed.

He even broke a 5/8” thick board with his palm, and another with his foot, which are requirements to advance to Orange Belt. Breaking the board with his hand took three attempts. It was probably more painful for me than him (though he might argue differently) as he smacked his hand, palm forward, against the unyielding board, his eyes welling with agonized dismay, his confidence momentarily and visibly shaken. But the third time was the charm, as they say. He also learned an important lesson: it doesn’t hurt nearly so much to break it as it does not to break it.

Here are some pictures from the Orange Belt test.

MTV's Laguna Beach Redux: Good News/Bad News

Let's start with the bad news. Due to its overwhelming popularity among 13-34 year-olds, MTV’s skanky pseudo-reality show Laguna Beach, The Real Orange County, has been renewed for a second season in 2005. It’s been reported in the local papers that MTV film crews are once again crawling around all over town, and that the next season will highlight the senior year antics and angst of Kristen, arguably the show’s most reprehensible character. Stay tuned for more hooking up, pole dancing, and fun-filled, sun-drenched Laguna Beach adventures!

Now for the good news: a few of the stars from the first season have put their new-found celebrityhood to admirable use. As reported in the Laguna Beach Coastline Pilot, Dieter Schmitz will be running and biking from San Diego to Laguna Beach (about 70 miles) to raise funds for Suicide Awareness Voices of Education (SAVE), a national nonprofit that works to prevent and raise awareness about depression and suicide. Through his website, www.runninghome4teens.com, Schmitz has raised $6,000 in pledged donations, with a goal of $10,000. Supporters include bands Blink 182 and New Found Glory, who are auctioning off autographed guitars on their websites, with 100% of the proceeds going to Schmitz’ cause. In the first season, cast member Trey Phillips revealed a refreshingly rare interest in life beyond tanning salons and party planning by organizing a youth activism group. He says he and other cast members will be present the afternoon of December 19 at Laguna Beach High School when Schmitz concludes his fundraising journey. (I'm SO there!) Schmitz and Phillips plan to combine their youth activism and fundraising efforts in the future.

Karate Kudos

Last month, Jackson was named Student of the Month in his Martial Arts class.  Presenting his award, which included a gift certificate at Barnes & Noble, is Bo Heng, who runs Heng's Martial Arts Academy at the Boys & Girls Club in Laguna Beach.  Jackson started taking classes in September, and the progress he's made, both physically and emotionally, has been incredible.  I will write more about this remarkable woman's committment to teaching values, responsibility, and self-defense in a future article.  For now, check out her website.

And wish Jackson good luck when he tests for his Orange Belt next month.

Same as it ever was

Does John Schwartz get TMI when he buys a colleague’s iPod? 

Not really. 

Read To Know Me, Know My IPod, in today’s Week in Review.

Highly Recommended

And not just because they picked American Digest as "Blog of the Day."

There's plenty to like (and learn) at www.growabrain.net.

Thanksgiving Community Potluck in Bluebird Park

The Real Laguna Beach

erard had cooked till all hours the night before, while I remained catatonic from The Flu, which literally knocked me flat for the six days prior. Smells of sausage, onions, and cranberries warmed the house, promising bountiful thanksgiving offerings the following day.

He prepared the fabulous Brussels sprouts casserole with onions, plus a perfectly tangy cranberry mandarin relish, and best of all, dressing with sausage, mushrooms, and black olives (yes, black olives, and they definitely worked.)

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

I watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade over the top of my newspaper, marveled at the sheer volume of ads, mentally comparing prices to purchases I’d scored online in my obsession to beat the “out of stock” heartbreak. 

Wearing something other than pajamas for the first time in almost a week, I helped load up the car and we drove down the hill to Bluebird Park, or the Rocket Park as it’s known around here, rightfully so now that the new three-story rocket climbing structure has been erected.

When we arrived shortly after noon, the Laguna Beach Thanksgiving Community Potluck was already in full swing.

It was a quintessential fall day, Southern California style: temperature low-to-mid seventies, and the sun dappling brilliantly through the trees, spotlighting those who gathered for the feast.

We were immediately besieged by volunteers anxious to relieve us of our aluminum trays and Tupperware. Gerard supervised the careful positioning of his dressing and Brussels sprouts dishes on one of several very long buffet stations, but entrusted the placement of the cranberry relish to my judgment. 

We then made our way to the end of the line with increasing dismay, because it wound back through the park for several hundred feet, at which point another cheerful volunteer doled out paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils. 

Fearful that his contributions might be consumed by the time we made it to the buffet, he returned to the tables and asserted his provider privilege to sample some of his wares while we still could.  He returned with a plate laden with dressing and Brussels sprouts which we shared with the lady in front of us in exchange for one of her homemade cookies. Happily, there was still plenty of the sausage stuffing when our turn came, and for me that was a meal in itself.

Which doesn’t mean I passed up the dessert table, where you had a choice of cheesecake, cobbler, and, of course, pumpkin pie with whipped cream. 

This well-organized event, now in its 17^th year, brings together those truly in need of a good meal on Thanksgiving with those only to happy to help provide it. You’re as likely to be standing next to one of your neighbors or a city council representative as you are someone who’s not sure where they’ll be spending the night. 

By 1:30 p.m., the food was gone. The smarter potluck veterans had brought containers for take-home goodies, and weren’t at all shy about loading up. 

“I like me a baked potato in the evening,” the charming lady with the oversized Versace glasses seated next to me said. “And what I don’t eat, I’ll give to the crows.  We have to feed them, dearie, you know.”  (Yes, she really did say “dearie.” And with a slightly Scottish brogue, no less.)

As we were leaving, Gerard gave me a squeeze and said, “This is what Thanksgiving should be.”

I look at him.

“Yes, and best of all, we don’t have a pile of dishes to do.”

That evening, we were reminded once again how lucky we are to be living in Laguna Beach.  The real Laguna Beach.