Life of Wry

I will get to writing.  In the meantime, enjoy the algae along Putah Creek.  Not even going to address the guano.  

… is to describe the above picture of a blooming tree and a speckled sky without using the words cotton ball.

Sunday driver, yeah.

It was a nice day for a driver training practice drive.  Riding shotgun, as I do, I got a couple of early spring drive-bys…

An old barn:

A blooming orchard:

On this particular driving expedition, somewhere south of Davis, along a gravel road, surrounded by mooing cows, Peter decided he wanted to race the car.  Inexplicably, I agreed (I’m that mom):

And then we got to the end of the road…

There’s some very good energy around the bench right now.  A new plaque went in this week. David’s preparing for a 12-city tour; departure date June 4. We’ve been having productive Google Hangout meetings about plans and proposals.  An artist named Jeff painted a beautiful picture of the corner. Bench withstood recent rains okay. Gofundme site’s been active. Dalai Lama comes to Northern California in a week. 

I ran into an old acquaintance today at the store who asked what I was going to be doing for Valentines Day. I said we were going to make a potluck dinner — Jim: main courses, me: dessert — and watch a couple three episodes of season #2 of House of Cards. He asked how long we’d been married. When I said 17 years, he said our plans sounded more like those of a 30-year marriage, shrugged and walked away.

Huh.

Sounded pretty damn great to me.  And it was.

Jim’s roasted chicken, roasted veggies, and rice were perfection. I tried two new desserts:

Martha Stewart’s brownies (cut in shape of hearts and dusted with powdered sugar):

And Martha Stewart’s shortbread dipped in chocolate:

Both were good.  The shortbread especially so.  Martha Stewart recipes are so fussy, and these were no exceptions.  The brownies were more like super dense chocolate cake, rather than flaky, chewy brownies, but they were rich and elegant. Yes, for brownies, they seemed sophisticated.  The shortbread was just ridiculous.. buttery, and perfectly shortbready.  The chocolate part worked out well, too.

Enjoyed my first walk around the stormwater detention basin, otherwise known as the the West Davis pond. Egrets, canadian geese, mallards and all kind of bird matter. Having never even seen this place, it was a surprise and a pleasure.

I actually have no idea what happens around the house when I’m gone for a few days. And whatever happens, they usually do a pretty good job of cleaning it up.

But… there are signs of the whatevers..

I know, it’s just a lemon under the piano.  But… a lemon under the piano?

I love my mice anyway. 

After yesterday’s post about my Grandpa’s 119 birthday (were he alive), I’ve since learned he was born not on February 10th, but the 11th, and the year was not 1895 as I’d thought, but 1892, which means this is actually the 122nd anniversary of his birth.

I also remembered that one of my sweetest and most favorite possessions is this tiny (2.5″) wooden bear.  My grandpa bought it for me at the Wawona Lodge in Yosemite after we’d spent an afternoon together–one of many during the years we spent in the Sierra–walking around looking at trees.

He knew a thing or two about trees:

Today is my Grandpa’s birthday.  Were he alive, he’d be 119.  

I Googled him to see exactly when he died and found this:

Here’s what people say who are writing officially about him:

Dr. P. Victor Peterson 
(July 1949-June 1959) 

      Dr. P. Victor Peterson served as the first president of California State University, Long Beach, from 1949 to 1959. 
      When he died in 1979 at the age of 87, the current president of the university, Dr. Stephen Horn, said: “Dr. Peterson was a fortunate man. He had the dedication and energy to begin soundly a great university and to live to see it well underway in meeting the needs of a diverse regional, national, and international population. We shall sorely miss his care and his involvement.” 
      Dr. Peterson was born in 1892 in Hampton, Iowa. He received the degree bachelor of arts (biological science and chemistry) from the University of Northern Iowa and the master of arts and doctor of philosophy degrees (chemistry) from Stanford University. 
      Dr. Peterson had a life-long interest in the study of native California flora; he was the author of Native Trees of Southern California. The university established a fund for the purchase and planting of a grove of native California trees, in his honor. Prior to assuming the presidency of the university (then California State College, Long Beach), he was founder and director of the West Coast School of Nature Study. 
      Among his memberships in community organizations were: the Long Beach Torch Club, United Way, Pacific Hospital, Young Men’s Christian Association, and the Long Beach Rotary Club. 
      His scientific and honor society memberships included Sigma Xi, Delta Sigma Rho, Phi Delta Kappa, Phi Lambda Upsilon, Alpha Omega, and Phi Kappa Phi.

But when I think of him I remember a quiet, proud Dane who sat at the head of table, carved meat and lit candles on our Christmas tree each year, whose home office was a sanctuary of memorabilia and old leather, whose secret recipe for punch was a huge hit with us kids, and who treated each of us with respect and kindness always. I remember, too, how pleased he was when I decided to attend the University of Sweden for a year, and how he and I conversed (not too well) in Danish and Swedish when I came home.  

But my favorite memory of him is this one: grandpa and grandma took us to Knott’s Berry Farm for a day of fun and dinner at the famous Mrs. Knott’s Chicken Dinner Restaurant (chicken dinner with mashed potatoes, homemade white dinner rolls served with their famous jams, and boysenberry pie).

(This was prior to all the roller coaster rides they have now.. in fact, the most thrilling ride at that time was an old fashioned car you could steer around a curvy concrete track.. which of course was extremely thrilling. Thrilling enough for a kiddo. Sigh.)

I, however, got sick and had to forgo Independence Hall, the gold mine, the ghost town, and the thrilling car track. It was my grandpa who went back to sit in the car with me for hours and maybe hours. I guess my grandma ended up with a handful of boy energy.. though maybe it was some subset of brothers, I’m not sure.  

I lay in the back seat, with my head in his lap, while he read to me and told stories. I will always remember that feeling of comfort and love.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Pete.  

It was either this, or another ho hum beach picture. This was shot this morning on an early, dampish walk. Wish I’d taken a more careful look at the cut in this tree; now I’m wondering if this is its genuine color. I will say, it stood out like a beacon along an otherwise muted-colored trail.

And, oh, what the hell… taken later this afternoon, on the way to the airport. Ho hum.