Life of Wry

I’m not really this far ahead.

Well.. actually, maybe I am!

For years, I’ve squirreled away gifts. I usually forget I have them.. and then go out and buy a whole new bunch of things.. which sorta defeats the purpose, right? A couple days ago, I thought I’d check the stash and actually found ten items that would work for folks on our list this year. Matt, since he’s driving up for Thanksgiving (arrives tomorrow!) can haul most of them back down to Southern California and save us some shipping costs. Win win. It’s not all of them (darn.. that’d have been fun to be done with all the So Cal gifts before Thanksgiving), but it’s a good chunk. I’m satisfied with that!

Yay us.

Ten presents. Eight of them are books.

It’s the calm before the storm, and today was about yard clean up (thanks, Mary), getting recipes out, making shopping lists, cleaning out the icebox and pantries.. making room for supplies and leftovers. Tomorrow starts a bit of prep cooking, getting ready for folks to arrive starting Tuesday. It’s looking like a week of clear, sunny skies, mostly, and mild temps.

How about a peaceful, pre-onslaught kinda pic…this was taken on Oct 27, early in the morning on a walk down at Putah Creek.

This is Jim, the one on the left. The kid with the cocked-sideways cap, he thinks, is his friend Kent, though Jim and Kent are contemporaries and, to me, there is a significant age difference between these two boys. Maybe Kent’s older brother? A mystery for now.

You can’t look at this picture and not see Peter.. furrowed brow, pursed lips.. how ’bout this one:

Or, maybe one of these ..

(I got a million o’ these…) Point is: related.

Also, it’s clear: Jim’s always been a hat guy. CHECK OUT THAT HAT! Where’s the pinwheel? Gotta love the 50s!

There’s a new mural in town.. on the wall adjacent to the driveway that leads to the underground parking for the Palm Court Hotel. Behind that wall is my most frequented (these days) cafe in town (Cloud Forest). I don’t know the artist’s intent, but when I looked at it, the first thing that came to mind was the Pointer Sister’s song, Jump (For My Love).

Here’s a closer look:

Pretty sure I’ll be singing that every time I walk down D Street.

So that you can sing it too, here are the (sexy) lyrics:

Your eyes tell me how you want me
I can feel it in your heartbeat
I know you like what you see
Hold me, I’ll give you all that you need
Wrap your love around me
You’re so excited, I can feel you
Getting hotter, oh baby
I’ll take you down, I’ll take you down
Where no one’s ever gone before
And if you want more, if you want more
More, more

Then jump for my love
Jump in and feel my touch
Jump if you want to taste my kisses
In the night then

Jump, jump for my love
Jump, I know my heart can make you happy
Jump in, you know these arms
Can feel you up
Jump, if you want to taste my kisses
In the night then
Jump, jump for my love

You told me, I’m the only woman for you
Nobody does you like I do
Then make a move before you try and
Go much farther, oh baby
You are the one, you are the one
And heaven waits here at my door
And if you want more
If you want more, more, more

Then jump for my love
Jump in and feel my touch
Jump if you want to taste my kisses
In the night then

Jump, jump for my love
Jump, I know my heart can make you happy
Jump in, you know these arms
Can feel you up
Jump, if you want to taste my kisses
In the night then
Jump, jump for my love

When you are next to me, oh I come alive
Your love burns inside, ooh
Oh, it feels so right
Come to me if you want me tonight

Jump
Jump in if you want to taste my kisses
In the night then
Jump, jump, jump
Jump (ooh, yeah) you know my heart can
Make you happy
Jump, you know these arms can feel you up
Jump in if you want to taste my kisses
In the night then
Jump, jump for my love (ooh-oh)
Jump
C’mon and jump on in (ooh)
Jump (you know I need you, ooh)
Jump in (I got to have you, yeah yeah)
Jump, jump for my love (I got to?)
Jump (yeah, yeah)
Jump (oh, yeah-yeah yeah)
Jump in (oh yeah)
Jump, jump, for my love (oh, oh yeah)
Jump (ooh, ooh)
Jump (oh baby, yeah)
Jump in (ooh, yeah)
Jump in (c’mon, yeah)
Jump, jump for my love

Songwriters: Gary Skardina / Marti Sharron / Stephen Mitchel

I’ve lived in Davis for .. let’s see .. almost 46 years. Long time. I’ve known Napa Valley’s an easy drive from here for most of that time. What I didn’t really figure out until recently, though, was that if I drive one block south, to the corner of A Street and Russell Blvd and turn right, and then stay on that road without turning — not even once — I can follow Russell Blvd all the way to Napa Valley, arriving in about one hour (give or take) and without traffic because it’s all backroads.

It goes like this: Russell Blvd becomes Road 32 as you drive out of the city limits, becomes Hwy 128 as you drive through Winters, then past Lake Berryessa, then you have a choice of Napa Valley destinations.. 1) continue on 128 and take it to a point on the north-ish side of the valley (about Rutherford, with St. Helena slightly to the northwest of that or Oakville slightly to the southeast), or, 2) at the fork, bear left off on Hwy 121 which will drop you at a more southern part of the valley (the city of Napa). Both options cross the Silverado Highway, and then continue to Hwy 29 that runs right up the middle of the Napa Valley. If you’re going to Yountville (along 29), then it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other when deciding whether to go 128 or 121.

But how about that! One road, basically. One hour, approximately. From one valley (the great Central Valley), over the hills to another, albeit smaller, cozier valley (the Napa Valley). Yay California.

And those mountains? That’s our own Berryessa Hills, viewable from our side of the valley.

Not my drone photo… wish I could attribute it… it’s just beautiful, whoever took it.

I sit here… by the fire, drinking a large chocolate-banana-protein powder smoothie. These smoothies give me numb-mouth and chill me to the bone, and sitting by the fire thaws me out. Love it. It’s drizzling outside. I’m listening to the news while chip chip chipping away at the Spelling Bee. Four’d the Wordle. Speaking of thaws: awaiting a (rare solo) press conference with Pres Biden reporting on a Xi meetup in San Francisco.. just down the road. They are saying perhaps a breakthrough in relations. Israel and Hamas a tragic mess and, in Biden’s word “a terrible dilemma”; worried about hostages and mass bombings of Palestinians, has Israil gone too far in avenging the Oct 7 attacks? Must arrive at a two-state solution say most. Ukraine making moves on Crimea. In a desperate move, Putin has been releasing felons and is putting them on the front lines. Our government didn’t shut down, thanks, sorta, kinda to new speaker leadership. Chris was in a car accident yesterday and totaled his car.. on his way to see his cardiologist. Jay and I exchanged a bunch of truly warm emails a couple weeks ago. Matt arrives on Tuesday.. as do Chris and Pam, and PETER. Thanksgiving will be here again. Menu’s set, stuff’s been ordered, ready to roll. Confimed our trip to the Dolomites for next summer; training begins asap. Joining Carrie for a short trip to Portland/Corvallis in a couple weeks. Not sure where Christmas will be hosted (either here or Monica/Dror’s) but hope Maya will be able to join us. Peter’s on his way to Washington, D.C. to deliver a talk, network and schmooze at the American Physics Society annual meet up. Jim and I leave for Sudwerk shortly for tonight’s pub quiz. Jim bought a new saw.

Here’s a nice pic from my walk this morning with Janet. Fall has arrived in Davis.

As we are in the middle of November, 2023, I thought I’d look back to November twenty years ago to see what I could find. Lots of fun stuff….

We went to Maui to celebrate Annita’s 80th birthday: born November 11, 1923.

We were all a bit younger. I hardly recognize that version of Jim!

Above: Jim will swim in warm water. I got to play some golf with John.

This is Peter in the Lahaina Banyan tree… I hope it is surviving after the fire a couple months ago.

On the beach… late afternoon glow..

With cousin Ben.. a coupla colorful guys!

Another lovely beach shot…

Back home. Peter taking care of business… (his nail clippers are an alligator):

We spent a weekend up at Malakoff Diggins State Park with the Devines and the Jensens. It snowed and was really, really cold!

The cabins were very primitive.

Thanksgiving happened that year at the Matalon-Frames.. Eating Monica’s traditional TG pre-dinner soup.

And finally… a random photo taken on the last day of November 2003.. I’ve always liked this one.. plucky Peter.

Once upon a very long time ago — about 44 years to be exact — I lived (and evidently adventured) at 220 B Street — a six-unit apartment building, right here in Davis.

I’ve reflected on those days a little here and there (I mean, I still live in Davis — coincidentally just five blocks from 220 B Street — and walk past that apartment building quite frequently), though my memories are fuzzy and mostly selective (sometimes completely wrong), as memories tend to be.

Until yesterday.

I hadn’t planned to unearth my journals yesterday. I was busy with simple little task that turned into a more complicated project which ultimately lead me into a whole different dimension. Literally. Through the looking glass.

(I was just shifting some summer clothes from one closet to another, which then morphed into a bigger closet sorting project that resulted in moving a whole bunch of fancier clothes to a wardrobe thingie in my office closet, which required me to shift a bunch of large rubbermaid boxes from there to another location, and one of those rubbermaid boxes (long untouched, unopened) contained a lifetime of journals — about 20-25 or so — and the one on top caught my eye, so I opened it, and got immediately pulled in) (at which point my closet project ended).

Anyway, twelve hours later (minus a short break for dinner), I’d read 294 pages of 22-24 year old me navigating my move to Davis, college graduation and first post-college jobs, but LOL, those subjects were barely addressed, LOST in a web of serious (apparently) relationships, shocking breakups, complicated entanglements and way more sex than I remembered. I barely mentioned school (except when it got in the way of my relationships), never commented on running track for UCD, and barely addressed the transition to a working life (except when my 12-hr/week tennis teaching job gave my dad pause, “Isn’t there a company like TRW up there where you could get a job in the computer department?”). (I was pleased to read that my mom had been briefed on that phone conversation and wanted to assure me that she and my dad were proud of me, and also wanted to let me know that my dad felt badly about making me cry.)

Anyway… there was very little about those significant life milestones, but there was just an incredible, vast volume of detail about the relationships and, again, the sex that happened in those three years between January 1978 and December 1980. An eye-opening swath of my history.

It was a real page turner. I’m afraid to open up any of the other journals.

And so much to process.

Interestingly… the setting for all of that drama and angst (and joy and fun, let’s be fair) was the few square blocks bounded by B, J, 8th and 2nd Streets… just blocks from where I live now. Could I ever, EVER have imagined then that 45 years later I’d be 1) reading this tome, and excerpts thereof to my husband, and 2) living just blocks away on A Street, having never left Davis — which I sure talked about doing in that journal! 3) Oh, and that my husband wasn’t ANY of the fellows in those relationships, as much as I thought each might have been marry-worthy.

Also interesting to me: while that 23 year old seemed almost a stranger to me — like, who IS this kid who can’t spell, can’t write, has that much sex, that much energy, is so uncertain about herself and her worth, is so naive about relationships (but thinks she isn’t) — a whole bunch of her is exactly who she became. Honestly, I read my thought processes then (in such painful detail), and recognized them as the same thought processes I go through now. Same patterns, same responses to hurt. I was stunned by that. I promise: I’ve grown, I’ve matured, I’ve learned, I’ve wisened up… but, man, those patterns, ESPECIALLY the response to hurt… they’re stuck in there, like part of the code, doomed to be repeated, impossible to erase.

Makes me just want to cry.

At least I can more or less write, and more or less spell. THAT is certainly an improvement over 23 year old me.

For hours I was just so stunned at the details and the way the relationships developed, and I was sometimes so very (very) disappointed in myself. I kept taking these deep breaths, shaking my head, cringing at the choices my inexperienced self was making, unimpressed by my lack of regard sometimes for others’ feelings. But truly, by the end, I felt some genuine compassion for that younger version of myself and saw some value to the experiences. I wouldn’t really want to remove any of them. I’m here to tell you, there were more to come, a mix of good and bad choices, and more lessons to learn.. but these three years, while pretty wild, painful, cringy, shallow, and morally dubious, also saw some real growth. There was a noticeable difference between the beginning of that journal and the end.

I found, tucked into the pages, a copy of a letter I’d sent to Brad, one of the very significant relationships during that time. Eight pages explaining why we needed to break up. Where my journal writing was unvarnished and largely stream of conscious (and brutal), the letter was thoughtful and (thankfully) way more articulate. In the journal, I was raw and unfiltered and embarrassingly self-centered. Hard to read. But in the letter to Brad, I was reasonably smart in my analysis of our relationship, a lot more tender and quite kind. (Also far fewer misspellings!) I was glad to see all of that.

I walked by 220 B Street this afternoon. I looked at that building with a completely different eye… much differently than have for the last four decades. I just stared at that first floor balcony. At one point I laughed out loud just thinking about then, now, THEN! At another point I just cried. How interesting to still be here, to still walk by that building all the time. To think about life 45 years ago.

OF COURSE I think of all the college kids who are that age, having those experiences all around me, every day, some in the same places (I imagine). OF COURSE I think about Peter, who’s in that age window, who’s having his own college relationships and experiences.

I’m not sure what to do with all these journals. I’m glad I have them. Writing was helpful back then. It’s illuminating (if cringy) to read them now.. I may want to re-read a few… maybe. But then what?? I don’t think Peter needs to read any of them.. so maybe a ceremonial bonfire? Or should I let him decide whether to toss or read? I’m not sure what he’d do. They’re pretty personal.. maybe they should just go when I go. Will think on this.

Page turner.

I am a journaler. Started in high school (I also kept a diary in grade school, but I wasn’t much of a writer back then) and wrote pretty consistently through high school, college and a decade or two (or three) into my adult years. Now I blog. I have a lot of journals.

I cracked one of those journals open this afternoon at about 2:00.. and began reading it. I read for the rest of the afternoon lying on the floor in my office until it got too dark and I couldn’t read the words on the page, so I moved to the living room (and turned on some lights!) and read until dinner, and then after dinner, and finished it around 2:00am.

It documented the three years from my senior year in college (I was a 5th year senior at UC Davis), through graduation and into my first two years of post-college work. 294 pages. Interesting years. There were men.

I’m too bleary-eyed (and shell shocked) to write anything tonight; I’ll write a little about this tomorrow.

Janet and a new guy came over for dinner tonight. Decided to make chili. I thought the prep was pretty…

A veritable rainbow of ingredients… red onion, celery, peppers (harvested today from the garden), garlic, cannellini beans (can you believe I intentionally put beans in something?) and corn. Beneath the corn are a pair of chicken breasts…

Put all that right into the crock pot and added: chicken broth, chili powder, cumin, oregano, thyme, salt, pepper.. and cook on low for 8 hours.

When it’s done, shred the chicken, add sour cream and toss with some scallions.

Pretty damn good. Serve with salad and some fresh ACME bread. And Jim’s peanut butter cookies for dessert.