Life of Wry

Minding my own biz

When a dry and brittle leaf

Falls upon my head.

I’m a fan of moments in time, of ascribing meaning and significance to them, of arriving–with thoughtful intention–to jumping off points. Knowing what we’re leaving behind, and what we’re moving into.

Like, today… first day of Fall (not to be confused with first day of school, which, of course, is its own moment in time, its own jumping off point). Today was a major seasonal transition.

So long summer. Seasonally speaking, we’re leaving the freedom and ease of barefoot days; of standing at the counter eating sweet, freshly cut, ripe fruit; of wearing light dresses and swinging in the hammock; of breezes blowing through the house. (Though in Davis, we still have another month and a half of lovely weather.)

I’ve written about exactly these things, I know. But, it’s hard to let them go, especially this year. Part of the immense pleasure of this summer was just being in such a wonderful state of mind to enjoy it.  I’ve been focusing on simplifying my life, decluttering on so many levels (including physical spaces), prioritizing, making room for just those few things that matter. That’s been the plan, and WOW, it’s really working. Stress and busy-ness are their own structural elements, they give our days shape and fullness, and the absence of stress and busy-ness is a little disorienting.. but I’m adjusting. Joyfully.

A friend asked me today (via email), “How are you?” meaning, HOW am I really?  I said this:

just great. in a place of ample space, settledness and readiness to be challenged. i’m looking at writing. have been doing a lot of reading (which feels like part of the writing process) feel open, peaceful (the word is apt) and optimistic. digging it. 

So yeah, the start of a new season is a great jumping off point. I love the luxury and space for reflection and assessment. I love a good start on the next phase. (Which, let me admit: part of that is truly, mindfully spiritual, and part of that is OCD.)

Anyway… I took these photos last night. Had lain in the hammock until I couldn’t see to read anymore, then approached a lighted house from a darkened yard. Sort of transition photos…right? Kind of reminds me of moving inward– transitioning from the season of outside to the season of inside. You know… if I had to get all symbolic about it.

Inviting.

Whoever’s in charge of these things–probably Hallmark–decided that one’s eighteenth wedding anniversary would be materially memorialized with porcelain. Porcelain gifts? I suppose.

Jim’s been the more consistent traditionalist in this regard… and has fashioned trinkets out of, for example, wood (5th), cooper (7th), crystal (15th), furniture (17th) and this year..

…. converted a porcelain drawer pull: etched and inscribed it, then mounted it on a sanded piece of branch from Peter’s sycamore (the one planted in his first year, fertilized with his placenta… sure I’ve written about that mostly undisclosed bit of family lore).

Jim is definitely the cleverer spouse.

I made a chocolate cake that came out looking like a giant doughnut.  Sought chocolate cake recipe ideas from the Facebook universe this morning and got a lot of very excellent possibilities. Used the first suggestion, a recipe adapted by the NY Times from the Silver Palate Cookbook. It was really good and not too complicated.

In the porcelain gift category, I went practical with a ceramic-bladed knife (super sharp, will almost never require sharpening, though it’s a little fussy… we’ll see how it works) and found what I thought was a rather perfect card for the porcelain occasion:

I’m clever in a less crafty way, perhaps.

Jim cooked dinner, a dish built around a bunch of plantains we found on the street in front of our house yesterday. No kidding. They must have dropped off somebody’s bike and they seemed fair game and in good enough shape. He sauteed them with a selection of CSA-box vegetables and added coconut for a sort of Caribbean flavor. It worked. Peter opted for some leftover steak.

My guys:

And the requisite, if goofy, shot of the celebrants:

Jim and I are usually pretty low key in our celebrations of birthdays and anniversaries. But for some reason, decided to take it up a notch and go across the causeway for dinner. Definitely not the usual… a nice dinner in Davis, yes. Sacramento: can’t remember a time.

So… we went to Biba’s. I hadn’t been there in at least 22 years, likely more.  Jim had never been.

Worked pretty hard on making a wine choice.  Not really. Went with a pinot grigio by the glass. I learned–though didn’t take advantage–that they will serve you a half glass (and charge you accordingly). That is cool.

I am a prosciutto fan, so talked Jim into this appetizer. Not his favorite; he thought it tasted like raw biscuit dough (and it sorta does… try eating some and think raw biscuit dough .. both texture and flavor).

Anyway…. will spare you all the courses.  But we enjoyed it all (me, especially the 10-layer lasagne course, Jim, especially the homemade gelato.)

Biba even dropped by. I’d say that was a bit awkward. Jim said I blushed. Weird of me. (I snuck this picture of her at an adjacent table. They didn’t seem to blush.

Tomorrow’s the real anniversary and we’ll be going back down to our usual notch… brunch at Bernardo’s in the morning and maybe some leftovers for dinner. Ahhh…

That would be me.  A buttinsky. A nosy neighbor.

Not really, but I was fascinated to witness this out my office window: these two neighbors, who shall remain nameless, ACTUALLY TALKING TO EACH OTHER.

One–I won’t say which–calls the other “Fat Ass.” Fat Ass is oblivious to this. But, believe me, I get an earful on a regular basis.

One turned 93 this year. The other is nowhere near that old, but is far more eccentric. One apparently needed cat food so badly, she was willing to forgive and forget. Hell, she even smiled. Not that I was spying on them or anything.

Anyway, couldn’t resist the picture.

* Gladys Kravitz, in case you forgot, was the obnoxious nosy neighbor in Bewitched… always cackling about the bizarre goings on at Samantha & Darrin Stephen’s house.

Two shots on the iPhone today, both pointed skyward.

What is that dark grey messiness that looks like a giant eraser smudge covering a sky that’s been a clear brilliant blue for like 150 days running? (We almost got some weather today! Which, while it didn’t produce any rain, was moody… and good for many hours of reading. Yay.)

Where on earth are all those kids going to throw their shoes when the utility lines go underground along the Third Street corridor?

Annual Back to School Night at Davis High School…. the night when you trace your kid’s schedule, sitting in each of his classes for a ten-minute period instead of the fifty that they endure. It’s brilliant, really; gives you a chance to meet each teacher, sit in desks in the actual classroom, make the real-life commute from class to class. I’m pretty sure we had nothing of the sort in my day.

Hard to be on a high school campus and not drift back to 1970-74. It’s also so odd to realize how crazily seminal those years were for as brief a moment in time they actually were.  Truly just a blip.

Tonight’s pre-BTSN activity was a barbeque dinner–very much an overstatement–put on by the government kids. Nothing remarkable about this, except the rock and roll music they played on the quad, which was all 60s and 70s music, which was like a bridge connecting points forty years apart. The government kids even danced and sang to the music as they served up hot dogs and chicken burgers.  Kinda tripy. I mean, I was already on nostalgia overload without the music…

Principal Will Brown’s speech, delivered to a full gym, was just like every pep rally ever yelled at. Go PVHS!… er, DHS. Whole thing designed to make us all feel great about our school. Same as it ever was.

Walking from class to class, it was amazing how many people Jim and I knew.. parents of Peter’s friends from so many phases of his life. We sat in an honors physics class with Syd and Rich who were in our child birth class.  I saw several moms from my earliest moms’ groups. And of course baseball parents, and parents from DPNS, Chavez and Holmes.  But it was also reminiscent of being in high school, walking around campus knowing people everywhere you looked, wanting to stop and talk, but instead rushing to class, trying to get there before the bell. (That is exactly what we did tonight… zigzagged across campus, entering rooms where nearly every desk was already taken–how did that happen? Tardy.)

Can’t say I miss any of that. But I did get twangs of inspiration as Peter’s American Lit teacher reviewed the books they’d be reading, or when his physics and spanish teachers excitedly (genuinely excitedly) shared plans for the year ahead (the physics teacher’s been doing this for nearly 30 years, the spanish guy is in his early twenties and started less than a year ago).  Peter likes all three of these teachers a lot. Three memorable ones, one okay, and one dud. Very grateful he’s got three out of five, at least.

I am sure there will be much that Peter will remember, even cherish, about this coming year. Weird to ponder that these years and the many experiences to come at DHS will lodge deeply and permanently into his little psyche. Certain they will. Because I found that when I blurred my vision around the edges, I experienced that very sense of time travel.

Have fun with that later, honey.

Pardon me for having absolutely nothing to write about. At the end of what was actually a very pleasant day, in desperation, with my battery power at 2%, I clicked a photo of the sky just as the baseball game in Woodland drew to an ugly close, and then, tempting fate, I snapped one of the cemetery (which is where most of the foul balls end up).

So… photos… with a smidge of filtering action:

… summer.

Another seven days…   enjoy everyone!

I will have to write about the significance of this in a bit. And I can do that, because, decks are clear.