And So We Laughed

The day after my fourteenth birthday, my dad and I drove up to Sacramento to take a look at a dog advertised as a "purebred" beagle.

The former owner opened up the garage, and I squatted down close to the ground as a snuggly, warm, soft little dog with a Beagle's black face mask and velvety soft ears came running out, streaming warm pee all along the way.

She ran with her head down and came right to me, tucking her entire body underneath my legs, something she would do for the rest of her life (minus the pee, luckily). I tried to separate myself, though I was already fully in love with this dog. I knew that my dad wouldn't like the nervous peeing habit.

I pet the dog. She licked my face. I looked into her one brown eye and her one blue eye. She was tiny, but the owner told us she was about five months old. Have I mentioned that I was already in love with this puppy?

The owner gave us a few moments to discuss it. My dad said she was too expensive. I cried and offered to pay a tiny part of the $100 asking price, $10. What can I say, I was fourteen and making $2 a week in allowance...$10 was a lot for me - five weeks salary!

My dad, seeing my tear streamed face and the dog's helpless eyes, agreed.

We drove home with the new dog asleep on my lap. I stroked her head and rubbed my fingers along her velvety ears.

We introduced her to my mom, who discovered that the poor dog was completely flea-ridden. My dad washed her about ten times that night, until she was finally clean and dressed in a hooded doggy sweatshirt (the first and only time she would wear it).

Then we named her. We took turns looking at her and holding her all through the evening until we decided on a name.

We settled on Jessica Jody, and for short, JJ.

For ever after, she would be known as JJ, though she would always respond when I called to her in a sing song voice, "Jessica Jody, Jessica Jody."

She was never the most beautiful of dogs, though her eyes always astonished people. She had a line running across her head, dividing up the color on the front of her face and the rest of her body. As her weight climbed above forty pounds, and she adopted the solid gait of a pit bull, we realized we had no pure-pred Beagle on our hands.


She was always so happy to see me. Her tail -- her long, heavy, thick tail -- would pound with joy, she would lift up her head, and I would bend down to let her kiss my face. She made happy little shouts of joy whenever anyone went outside to see her. When she got to walk -- on her purple leash - always purple -- she would shriek in a high pitched tone and then yank us out the gate.

JJ loved to go down slides, played fetch for hours on end and had no teeth.

She came to us with some nervous habits, one of which was chewing. She chewed through street hockey balls, chewed on wooden decks, made wreck out of her doghouse. And so, those teeth were worn down doing something she loved.

The one time she was allowed to sleep by the side of my bed, the next morning we found her sound asleep in the wreckage of Abu the monkey.

She loved the water. The first time we took her to the beach, she couldn't handle the sand. She took a step, sunk down and wanted to go back to the parking lot, but she trusted us. She trusted me, most of all (even to her last week, she would take her daily pills only from my hand...anyone else had to shove the pills down her throat). She let us walk her down the steep, sandy hill, and once she discovered the ocean, it was all worth it. She ran and snapped at the waves, trying to catch them in her teeth. JJ would swim out as far as possible, until we realized that, unless she was in our favorite, quiet cove, we would have to keep a close watch on her, so she didn't get carried away by the rip-tide. She was full of joy everyday, but I think she was at her happiest on the beach.

As my mom said, she was the perfect dog, she came into our lives and was just what we needed in a dog.

On the day after my fourteenth birthday, I was still a scared, shy girl, and she was a scared, shy puppy. We were kindred spirits who needed to find each other.


Over the past few months, our fourteen year-old dog, the dog who has given us all she has to give for half of my life, faced a rapidly failing body. Still, everytime she saw me, she greeted me with a wagging tail and an upturned face, eager for her kisses. She tried her best for us, and last night, we finally did something for her.

We let her go.

I cried, knowing that I'll miss her velvety ears and her soft, warm kisses. I'll miss her stopping on each and every walk to sniff and grunt like a truffle pig. I'll miss her crazy blue eye. I'll miss the happy, loving spirit of a dog named JJ.

But I'm not sad. JJ had an incredible full, long and happy life. And she shared all of that happiness with us.

When the vet came in to ask if we were ready, my mom, my dad, WG and I were laughing, remembering funny things about JJ.

My mom went out to the lobby, and WG went to wait with her.

The vet finally opened the door with the medicine, poor JJ made such a variety of noises she sounded like a train engine. The vet said, "Is that her making those noises?" We laughed and comforted JJ, petting her ears, kissing the top of her head, telling her she would be with her Bailey soon.

She went quickly. She rested her head on her paws, with her tongue sticking out of her mouth.

Ths time, we giggled, and my dad struggled to get it back in. Never graceful, but always loving, our JJ. We closed her eyes, pet her, told her we loved her, hugged her and said goodbye.

The four of us left the vet wiping away tears but laughing all the way.

She Was Waiting at the Gate

I never wanted to have a male and female dog at the same time. I read Where the Red Fern Grows in the fourth or fifth grade. I knew what happened when a pair of dogs bonded, and one of the dogs passed, and I was having none of that.

But...within a two year span at the start of high school, we rescued JJ (we didn't realize it was a rescue at the time, but it turned out to be a life saver for her), and my mom finally let my dad have a German Shepherd. And that Shepherd we named George Bailey.

Bailey, like his fictional counterpart, had some worries and fears about his family, but he always patrolled the backyard each night and protected us all as best he could.

I worried, as the two dogs got older, about what would happen when JJ passed, because she was older and had more obvious health problems. How would Bailey handle it?

Bailey was ever the devoted "husband." JJ wants to eat his food? Okay, go ahead sweetie. Bailey has done something that displeases JJ? Alright, Bailey will stand while JJ lifts her mouth to his ear and growls right into it.

If JJ went out for a walk, or to the vet, when we returned Bailey was waiting at the gate. He would investigate JJ's entire body, smelling, licking where necessary, and then come over to the humans and butt his head against our legs, as if to say, "Thanks for bringing her back...I might trust you to take her out again."



As JJ aged, her legs began to fail her. Her eyes are saggy and unfocused. She spends her days resting in the sun, wagging her tail and getting frequent pets on the head.



As Bailey aged, his once athletic body, one he used both to chase rabbits and once to protect my father against a pack of dogs roving the streets, began to turn against him. His hips ached. His nose, the source of much of his knowledge, became clogged and useless. During the mornings and the evenings, his pains were the worst. He stayed on the side of the house, away from the other dogs, out of sight of the humans. When his body warmed up, he moved to the grass and would smile and allow us to pet his proud head.

Several months ago, Tosh joined the family. Bailey perked up. He had someone new in his life! He needed to teach! And chase! And play! All when his weary body would allow him.



JJ exists simply to growl at him when the humans are around and to snuggle with him when she thinks we can't see.



Over the past seven months, Bailey has bestowed his knowledge onto Tosh.



Tosh would walk the yard with Bailey. He learned that JJ requires special attention and that she may always eat any of the food, not just her own. He took on the JJ habit of cleaning Bailey's ears.



They made a wonderful little family.

With a thirteen year old German Shepherd, though, the future is short, and Bailey has failed fast in the last month. His clogged nose? Probably sinus cancer. His aching hips? Hardly supporting his weight at all. After a terrifying moment last week that involved an unstoppable bloody nose, it became clear that our hero, our proud German Shepherd had reached the end of his life.

JJ took to sleeping by his dog house, something she's never done. Tosh cleaned Bailey's entire face, not just his hears, and took over the nightly patrols.

The opposite of what I had always worried about came true, and it would be JJ who would be left behind.

My dad made that final call.

Sunday morning, we walked beside our Bailey as he stumbled into the vet's office one last time. My dad and I went into the little room to be with Bailey. My mom and WG (what a superstar) waited outside. Bailey's passing was peaceful, just what he deserved after all of his hard work to protect and love our family for more than thirteen years.

And when my parents returned home, with an empty backseat, JJ was waiting at the gate, hoping to welcome home her Bailey.



George Bailey - 1995-2008

Fast Forward

I have lots of changes that could potentially happen in my life in the next six to twelve months. Okay, so that's the vaguest sentence ever. There are a number of big changes that could BELIEVABLY happen in my life soon...not immediately, but soon enough to cause me worry.

There are moments, when I feel weighted down by all of the uncertainty, that I wish I could just know what would happen, that I could be through all of the rough stuff and content on the other side.

When I pause, half in and half out of the shower, or mindlessly standing in front of the fridge, thinking about this wish (because I always pause in the most awkward places when I'm caught mid-thought), though, I realize that I wouldn't actually do it if I could.

Where will I work? Where will I live? Who will I live with? Will things with WG have taken a step forward? How will I maintain relationships with my parents and my friends in California? Will I even have left the state? See. Big questions.

If someone walked up to me, with a DVD of my future life and said, "Hey, watch this. It's the story of your life, two years from now." I'd say, "First, you're a freak. Second, no thanks."

As much as I want to know what everything will look like, as much as I want to be over the big pain of moving far away from my parents and close friends (again), I know that living those moments will make the happiness all the better.

With my finger hovering over that fast forward button, I stop, and I just let my life play out as it will. The not knowing is both terrifying and exhilirating, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Self Diagnosis

In my two undergraduate psychology courses, I was warned against "self-diagnosis," and that included making guesses as to what may be "wrong" with various friends and family members. For the most part, I headed this advice, at least in the presence of my instructors.

After reading, Look Me in the Eye by John Elder Robison, I am more convinced than ever that through my father's bloodline runs the tendency to be a bit on the Aspergian side of the autism spectrum.

According to both John Elder Robison and WebMD, Asperger's Syndrome often shows symptoms including:

Not pick up on social cues and lack inborn social skills

Dislike any changes in routines.

Avoid eye contact.

Talk a lot, usually about a favorite subject. One-sided conversations are common. Internal thoughts are often verbalized.

The most interesting, and perhaps oddest, symptom that I discovered while reading the book, is that Aspergians tend to like small spaces and also like to sleep with something heavy on top of them - this can include pillows or blankets or even another human being. While I can certainly relate to the lack of eye contact, the tendency to get caught up in talking about my own favorite topics, it's the blankets and the need for warmth and weight on top of me that stands out most. It's also the one that affects someone else (that would be WG). I can't explain why I like to have heavy covers on top of me...I just do, and I'm beginning to understand a bit more that there may not be an actual reason.

As a kid, I tucked myself away in corners. In fact, as a teenager, when I had the opportunity to rearrange my furniture, I created corners and small, snug places, that I then packed with pillows. I would also hide away in my closet. In fact, I still tend to have dreams about crawling into the closet with a book and just escaping for a few hours.

WG is a social creature. He flourishes when surrounded by people. I shrink. My technique for dealing with this is to take frequent bathroom breaks. I can go and be in a room, alone, breath, and reconnect with the world. Overstimuation, crowded places and too many things happening at once tend to make me go "Vegas," or, as I am beginning to see, make me go just a bit autistic.

There are more things that are present in both my life and that of my father, but I think the blankets and the blank stares are enough for now.

It's time to go spend a nice, quiet, commute in the small, safe world that is my Honda Civic.

30

Thirty is a crisp, clean number. It's solid. Thirty hints at what may have happened in three decades.

Thirty means that time has passed but that there is still time to come.

Thirty means dedication, commitment.

Thirty has memories of slammed doors and raised voices, but thirty also clearly remembers a walk down the aisle and the feel of a newborn baby, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

Thirty is beautiful. Thirty is melancholy. Thirty is proud.

Thirty is love.

Happy Anniversary, Mama and Daddy!

Real World Father's Day

My father is my Knight in Shining Armor, and I am the princess who needs to be saved. I am a Daddy's Girl. And I have no shame in that. I am completely clear on the fact that Daddy is human. I also whole-heartedly believe in his super-hero status.

I am an only child. I am an only daughter. My father was a mere 25 years of age, and a very young 25, when I came into the world, and though he had a lot to learn as a husband, he seems to have taken to fatherhood quite naturally.

In our first picture together, he wears a yellow hospital gown, and holds a barely-5-pounds-me in his hands. I look tiny but safe. He gazes in awe at this tiny creature for whom he is now wholely responsible.

My mother will cry in heaving sobs when she tells of how she didn't get to meet me for three entire days after I was born. The nurses just kept neglecting to wheel her down to the NICU. But my father talked to me, held me and began to understand some of what it takes to be a father.

In the 27 (nearly 28) years that followed that photo, we've had our ups and downs, our fights and battles, most of them caused by the fact that we're incredibly alike in personality. Put to incredibly stubborn, defensive, unbelieving people and a room together, and you get two people who can't make a decision and who must consult resources before believing anything anyone says. It's fun.

But the truth is that my father has taught me what to look for in a future husband and what to expect from men in the world around me. With no qualms, I can say that my father has taught me about loyalty, honor and courage, because he has all three in immense quantity.

I love my Daddy, and I realize how incredibly lucky I am to be a girl who knows her father's flaws and can still respect him as a father and as a man.

So, here's to fathers being good to their daughters, because it's true what John Mayer says, daughters give love in response to how well their fathers can love them.

Happy Fathers' Day to all of the wonderful fathers out there, but especially to mine :).

The Gratitude List

Forty-two weeks into drumming up content for Real World Wednesday, there's some part of me that wants to admit defeat and just accept being a bit shallow and ignorant of the larger world around me. Then, there's a larger part of me that simply wants to keep the day as it is: Something I created, that I control, that I can use as I please.

Today's Real World Wednesday is The Gratitude List.

What's that?

Well, again, forty-two weeks into drumming up content for Real World Wednesday, I have learned that there are plenty of people in the world who do not lead lives as obviously blessed as my own. So, last night, as I was pondering how I could run around moaning and groaning about a few pimples when there was a twelve-year-old with burn scars all over her body asking for help at the reference desk, I thought about a gratitude list.

This is different than a love list or a 100 things list. No, this is a simple way to start each day. For May, each Real World Wednesday will consist of a gratitude list, a list of no less than 20 things for which I am grateful. Feel free to join in here, or on your own blog.

It's April 30. That gives everyone a week's start to get thinking.

And just to get us on a roll.

Thankful

1) For a mother who understands me and a father who protects me.
2) For a boyfriend who challenges me to stand up for my beliefs and not just roll over and let someone else win.
3) For friends who put up with whining and moping and groaning and complaining from me and then complain when they haven't heard from me in a while.
4) For a job that requires me to use my brain and keep on my toes.
5) For a roof over my head, a car to drive and food in my fridge.
6) For the unfailing love that is devotion from my cat and dogs.
7) For an income that affords me the gas I need to have the social life I crave.
8) For a healthy body that lets me run, jump, swim, climb, snowshoe and breathe.
9) For a faith in God and a curiousity about faith that keeps me learning about my religion.
10) For a private high school education that let me learn without fear.
11) For the degree from UC Berkeley that has opened countless doors.
12) For eyes that see the world from a slightly innocent perspective.
13) For fingers that type 90 words a minute, letting me express my thoughts as fast as I can think them.
14) For co-workers who listen to my tales, emphathize and work with me to come up with solutions.
15) For healthcare that allows me to get the care I need, when I need it.
16) For feet that dance and bounce and prance.
17) For supervisors who have faith in my abilities.
18) For strict but flexibile parents who made sure that the best I gave them was really the best I could do.
19) For the strength to have open, honest conversations with WG about the future.
20) For friends across the country who care about what happens in my life.

Poems from a Poet I Heard Speak

I was blessed to get to hear Czeslaw Milosz read aloud from his poetry during a lunchtime poetry session at the Doe Library at UC Berkeley. My father has long admired his work, and I was so happy to invite my dad to visit me on campus and hear this amazing man speak. I never took my dad to a Cal football game while I was a student, but I did take him to a poetry reading by his favorite poet. That's got to count for something.

Milosz is, perhaps, my father's one connection to a vague cultural inheritance. His Polish-speaking grandparents died long ago. His Polish-speaking father lives in a rest home in Arizona, mumbling his throughts in that slavic tongue, letting none of us know his secret thoughts. But Czeslaw Milosz translated his poems, allowing those of Polish background but not linguistically inclined, the chance to see inside the often - though not always - depressive Polish mind.

Father Explains

"There where that ray touches the plain
And the shadows escape as if they really ran,
Warsaw stands, open from all sides,
A city not very old but quite famous.

"Farther, where strings of rain hang from a little cloud,
Under the hills with an acacia grove
Is Prague. Above it, a marvelous castle
Shored against a slope in accordance with old rules.

"What divides this land with white foam
Is the Alps. The black means fir forests.
Beyond them, bathing in the yellow sun
Italy lies, like a deep-blue dish.

"Among the many fine cities that are there
You will recognize Rome, Christendom's capital,
By those round roofs on the church
Called the Basilica of Saint Peter.

"And there, to the north, beyond a bay,
Where a level bluish mist moves in waves,
Paris tries to keep pace with its tower
And reins in its herd of bridges.

"Also other cities accompany Paris,
They are adorned with glass, arrayed in iron,
But for today that would be too much,
I'll tell the rest another time."

A Poem For The End Of The Century

When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,

I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.

What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.

Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.

Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?

To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."

"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."

To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?

Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.

Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.

Are you celebrating National Poetry Month?

Because There Are Days When I Forget

The past couple of weeks have been a challenge. The woman who makes me want to tear out my hair and possibly tear off my ears has returned to my workplace. It's not her fault that she drives me crazy. This month is going to be a mish-mash of not enough time with WG, and that makes each of my workdays seem even longer.

So, because there are days when I forget how lucky I am, here I am, jumping on yet another bandwagon.

I love hugs from my mother. I love a light breeze tickling my toes as I walk barefoot in the grass, or on my carpet. I love when I can get stubborn stains out of the carpet. I love cuddling with my cat, especially on a "sleeping-in day." I love that my cat is waiting at the door for me when I get home.

I love squishing my head against my dad's chest, knowing that he'll always make me feel little and safe. I love kissing my dog on the head. I love getting head-butted by Bailey the German Shepherd. I love that the new guy, Tosh, rolls himself over spread eagle and begs me to scratch his belly.

I love getting to talk, nearly uninterrupted, with my teen volunteers. I love that I have some wisdom to share with them. I love the color pink. I love my bed.

I love the feel of the water against my skin when I dive into a pool. I love the way my body feels on that first lap, as if I'm one with the water. I love settling in the couch, cuddled in a blanket my mom made me, and watching just about any one of my DVDs.

I love the sound of my boyfriend's laugh. I love his arms. I love his smell. I love his smile. I love that I love him so much.

I love watching my parents together. I love driving in Napa. I love crossing the bridge into San Francisco. I love the Giants. I love baseball. I love knowing just enough Polish to make for an interesting conversation. I love the stride in my walk. I love love.

I love baking. I love especially baking things I know will turn out to be absolutely wonderful. I love ice cream. I love homemade ice cream, even more. I love my friends. I love that I can say absolutely anything to Irene, and she will understand. I love dancing in my living room. I love dancing, period. I love getting dressed up and feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world.

I love John Cusack, Jeremy Piven and whoever plays Eric on Entourage. I love college football. I love Berkeley. I love my car. I love losing myself in a good book.

I love packing for vacation, deciding what I need on the airplane and settling in with my iPod and a book I probably won't finish.

I love when someone else gives me an idea for a blog posting at just the right time, and I jump all over it.

I love talking library talk with people who understand. I love talking about video games with people who understand. I love talking.

I love my mommy and daddy. I love my friends. I love all of my pets. I love my boyfriend. I love God.

I love Thursday mornings and Friday night.

I love treating myself to something yummy when I have to work early or on a weekend.

I love photography. I love my camera. I love getting just the right shot at just the right time.

I love wearing colorful clothing.

I love flip-flops.

I love bright red toenails.

I love comfort music, comfort food and comfort conversation.

I love.

Toshing Around

2:30 p.m.
My co-worker calls to me as I breeze past, on the way out the door to meet my mom: Hey, Sarah, do you know anyone who wants a dog?

Me: No...we've got two older dogs, and I don't think they're looking for any new friends.





Co-worker: My son has two puppies he's trying to give away; they're half Burmese Mountain Dog, half German Shepherd.

Me: Ah, well...

Co-worker: I'll post a sign, I guess.

Off I go to coffee with my mom.

2:40

Me: Oh, so my co-worker is trying to give away puppies, but I told her we couldn't take one.

Mama: You should ask Daddy, he might be interested.

Me: blank stare.

2:45

We meet my dad in the parking lot at his office to drop off a cinnamon dolce latte.

Me: So....I have a question for you.

Daddy: Uh-oh.

Me: Well, someone at work (who my dad actually knows, too) has two dogs she's trying to give away.

I go on to describe the dogs and the somewhat sad circumstance that they're in at the moment. I expect my dad to immediately decline, as he's declined any mention of adding another pet to the family FOR THE PAST TWELVE YEARS.

Daddy: Let me think about it. I need to look up stuff on the Burmese, because I'm not familiar with that breed, and they might be too big.

Me: When will you know?

Daddy: Before the weekend.

Well, seeing as how the weekend would be coming up in, oh, about two hours, I knew my dad was hooked.

Me: Will you want to see the dogs first?

Daddy: Of course.

Me: Well, let me know.

4:05

I text my dad to let him know that I'll be away from the computer, and he'll have to call or text me with his decision.

4:07

Text from my dad: Ok.

4:10

Text from me: Ok, you want to see the puppy?

4:15

Text from my dad: Yes, please.

By 4:30, I had talked to my co-worker and had a phone conversation with her son, the officiall owner of the puppies.

At 5:05, I called to fill my parents in the puppy details and give them the owner's phone number.

By 7:30, after I'd finished dinner with my regular group of librarians, I had three pictures of my dad and our two older dogs playing with the puppy on my cell phone. So, of course, I had to go play with a warm, fuzzy, squiggly, awesome little dog who can't quite stand on his legs (he's like a newborn colt), who also won't stay little for long!

And the big bruisin' puppy had been named Peter Tosh.

We'll call him Tosh.



Tosh has made good friends with Bailey, the German Shepherd, and follows him everywhere. Apparently this morning, Bailey has been following Tosh all around the yard, making sure he doesn't fall in the pond and otherwise showing him the ropes.



(look at his cute little baboon butt!)

Last night, JJ, our Beagle/Pit Bull mix, barely tolerated Tosh's presence, but she took out on Bailey, growling at him whenever he came by, instead of on Tosh. By the end of the night, she could handle him sleeping near her.



I have a feeling that this big boy will get away with a lot...I mean, look at that face:



All told, Bailey (the German Shepherd) is thrilled to be a "dad" and have someone to mentor. And my dad's face is simply glowing as he both watches his Shepherd come out of the funk he's been in over the last several weeks and gets to enjoy a brand new ball of fur.



And after just a few hours on a random Friday, Tosh found a home.

Slow

What with power outages, thunder, lightning and rain, I had no choice but to stay inside my apartment all weekend, now did I?

Except for Friday night, of course. I stopped on my way home for gas and found it curious that the power was out at two of the three gas stations by my place, but I figured this was a fluke. Certainly, I would have power, right?

Wrong. I walked in to find WG trying to chop chives by candlelight, hoping against hope that the power would return at any moment and he could finish making his potato soup. No such luck. I had to console him with a bit of a nap and a trip to see the movie he's been dying to see, Juno (bonus Dwight sighting in the movie, for all of you Office fans out there)...we had NO. WARM. FOOD. TO. EAT., people. We had to get out of the house. I can't NOT eat hot food when it's pouring rain outside. So, we got our meal, entertained ourselves at Best Buy playing some odd animal version of tetris...and then went to our 10 o'clock show. I assumed that the power would have to be on by midnight when we returned.

It wasn't.

So, I showered by flashlight and crawled into bed (a bed heated by own personal heater -- sidenote, why are men like furnaces? they burn all their heat outward...there has to be some kind of scientific reason for this), hoping to find the power back on in the morning.

Hurrah! It was.

And so my weekend of gadgets and gizmos and games could commence! Yippee! I scurried down to the gym to workout to the sound of booming thunder, then scurried right on back into my cozy apartment for a day of Warcraft (I'm a geek and proud, gosh darn it), Wii and...uhm...I can't think of anything else that starts with a W. Mostly, it was Warcraft.

And that's when it hit me.

I always have this long list of things to do, and I try to to a little bit of everything each day. After spending five hours on the couch playing a video game, I realize it's all about quality time. Quality time, folks, means that I don't try to squeeze in half an hour of gaming, an hour of working out, an hour of cleaning...but that I spend signficant chunks of time on one sole activity. Maybe that's how I finally become an expert at something instead of mildly good at a lot of things. Now, that's not to say that I'd like that "expert" ability to be with Warcraft, but still, realization had. Moving on.

With the power back on, WG was able to make his longed for soup, and so, I left him in the kitchen for several hours. I didn't even once offer to help! Look at me not being all up in his space.

So, we have soup to last us to the apocolypse, and his craving was certainly satiated.

And then we nearly fell asleep playing Mario Galaxy 8 on the Wii (dang those stupid computer characters - Luigi is a moron and Toadette totally capatalized on that...). Ahh, living in the lap of luxury.

Sunday, more of the same, but this time, I made it a point to play Wii first, ah ha, so as to get in my quality time on the Harry Potter game. Then I cleaned the apartment...so, some kind of quality work got done.

We finally managed to find my dad in Warcraft, and the men came and rescued me, much to my chagrin, from a bit of a...situation...I'd gotten myself into, and it was great fun to play that little ole game online with both WG and my dad. And, from what I hear, my dad got quite the kick out of being able to be a virtual hero.

Evening came, along with my odd little meal of bratwurst and rice (and salad...we must keep ourselves in good health, people).

And then I was back online, perusing the job descriptions. I've found (and applied for! woot!) one job I like so far, and I continue to be picky...but we had a little conversation like this.

Me: Do you want to live in upstate New York?

Him: I don't know anyone there.

Me: And it's too cold. Do you want to live in Maryland?

Him:....

Me:Maryland?

Him: I could do that...

Me: Wait, the job's in Baltimore. I am not living in Baltimore.

Him: Good.

And so the quest continues.

And then it was time for bed and a new week.

And here I am, at work on a sunny day, oddly craving the rain and, understandably, craving the weekend.

A Beautiful Weekend

1) Starting out Friday evening with dinner at my parents' house. A fabulous time was had by all - there was roast beef, and perfectly done potatoes, and these loverly brussels sprouts. Then we watched Heroes. It can't get much better than that. It was also quite endearing to watch WG explain to my dad the he doesn't really want to see American Gangster (the movie my dad and I have been going on and on about to each other for months).

WG: Eh, I don't really want to see it. I don't like those kinds of movies.
My Dad (with an open mouth and an unbelieving expression in his eyes): You DON'T LIKE THOSE KINDS OF MOVIES? How can you not?
Me (trying to change the subject just a tad): They had an article with the real life guy's daughter in Glamour...
My Dad (now mumbling to himself): Sarah and I love those movies...
WG: Well, I'll see it...
My mom (perky in the background): Maybe we can all go together!

2) Pumpkin Carving with fabulous library friends! Yay! Our wonderful hostess provided the pumpkins, the carving gear, the yummy snacks...the works. A fabulous time was had by all. That seemed to be the order of the weekend. I greatly enjoyed getting dressed up with my blue wig and the rest of my martian costume, and it was fantastic to hear WG laugh heartily at himself as his costume makes him look just a tad silly.

3)Bridge School Benefit Concert- hearing Regina Spektor live for the first time and John Mayer live for the fourth time was amazing. I sang along, listened to the music and said to WG (my own personal band geek who can play three instruments well), "You know, I may not play music, but I listen to music. Just as there are leaders, there must be followers. There are those play music and those who listen. I listen." During the concert, with a perfect Hollywood movie blue sky speckled gently with whisphy white clouds, I worried that I would wake up from a dream. I also realized fully and for the first time that I have been with this man for over a year, that we are a couple, that I have survived a year with a man in my life, and I was happy.

Close Calls

They say things come in threes. Apparently that's true.

1) At work on Wednesday, I accidentally gave one customer another customer's drivers license when he returned a reference item. Chaos ensued, but all was brought to a satisfying conclusion when my boss (!) added an extra hour to her day by driving to one customer's house to retrieve the errant license. I brought her a box of cookies this morning in gratitude.

2) On the way home from a particularly fun evening of shopping with Miss Irene, I stop at stop sign near my apartment.

Sheriff's Deputies right there.

Dang.

They flash their lights and follow me to the next stop sign, at which I carefully stop.

Then I turn left and pull over.

License, registration, insurance, etc. are handed over in the proper way.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"No, I don't."

She tells me that I didn't come to a full and complete stop, I say, "Really? Well, I know I stopped at that last stop sign." What else am I going to say?

She takes everything, comes back, "What's that in your backseat?" (shines her flashlight over the blanket that's covering my purse and the Target bags).

I move the blanket, "Just my groceries."

"Okay. Do you work in (important law enforcement related department)?"

"My father does."

"Well, Sarah, just remember to make full and complete stops. Drive safely. Have a nice night."

"Thank you."

Whew. The end.

3) I got to work right at 12:02, of course after swearing to myself that I'll leave on time from now on so that I don't feel tempted to not come to full and complete stops. I look at my schedule and see that I'm not on a reference desk until 1! Whew. I haven't made anyone late for their lunch break.

Three close calls, the first two obviously on a grander scale than the third. I'm thanking God and making all kinds of promises.

Close calls aren't just close calls.

They're warnings to be more careful in the future.

100 Things

A few days late, but nonetheless, here is my "official" five year blog-aversary post...a re-do of 100 Things. I may make this an annual event, but in any case, I'm redoing the list now. The first 100 (read the four part series) entertained and amused but didn't necessarily capture the essence of...moi.

So, here goes again.

1. I take an unnatural amount of enjoyment in the fact that I was born in Hawaii and try to work this into conversation with people I don't know so that I can see the look of surprise and mild confusion on their faces.

2. I wear one piece of jewelry everyday. It is a necklace with a variety of religious and other medals. I have been known to refer to it as my "mafia-wife jewelry."

3. There are times when I wish I didn't wear the necklace everyday.

4. Everyday, I also wear glasses. Now, when I wear contacts, my face feels naked.

5. Speaking of my face, since I started dating Wine Guy ten months ago, I've worn less makeup than ever before.

6. This is important, because I spent years telling people that I wanted a boyfriend who would appreciate me without layers of makeup, and now I have one. Fancy that.

7. I never actually wore makeup in high school unless I was doing a play, or when I went to prom or got all dolled up for graduation. In college, I only wore makeup for sorority functions, dates and job interviews.

8. I'm not a big fan of makeup, but I also have the odd belief that wearing makeup when in a big city actually protects the skin.

9. I do tend to come up with my own ideas of how and why the world works as it does. These ideas rarely make sense to anyone outside of my own head.

10. Yet it still frustrates me to no end when people in my life do not understand right away what I am trying to say.

11. I wish I were more patient.

12. Everytime I see a well-behaved, sweet smelling, adorable baby, my uterus leaps in anticipation, and I can't wait to hold my eventual children in my arms.

13. Each time a mother comes into the library with one (or several) screaming children, I am okay with waiting just a bit longer.

14. Though others may disagree on calling this a goal, it is one of my life's goals to become a married woman.

15. I believe that I have met and am currently dating the man I will eventually marry.

16. Only recently have I truly discovered that I am in absolutely no hurry to run headlong into the changes that marriage will bring.

17. I was born two months early and did quite well from then on, thank you very much. I believe this is a testament to my stubborn nature.

18. My birth was one of the only times I was early for anything.

19. I tend to be late, because I hate being too early and having to wait for people, especially if I don't have a book with me.

20. When I moved out last year, I took my crazy, needy, neurotic, wonderful orange kitty with me and left the two fabulous, talkative, loving dogs with my parents. I miss the dogs more than anyone can possibly imagine and wish I could see them each and every day.

21. I sleep better when there is someone else in bed with me. This can either be Marley (the cat) or WG (the boyfriend). When I wake with both of them scrunched up next to me, one on either side of me, it is absolute heaven.

21. I met my boyfriend online. There is no way I would have met him in the real world, because our social and professional circles would not have intertwined, and it catches my breath a little when I think that I could have missed meeting him had I not signed up for Match.com just one more time.

22. People in my family (even my parents, because, though they met in high school, it took years for them to date) tend to meet in unusual circumstances.

22. My father's parents met on a blind date, went out for a few months, parted ways, then got together again three years later. They've been married over fifty years.

23. My father's father's parents met when my great-grandfather was playing the trumpet in a jazz club in Bay City, Michigan. I can just imagine the sight he made, handsome and six foot four, to my teensy, tinsy little great-grandmother.

24. My mother's mother's parents wouldn't have met if my great-great grandfather hadn't died in New York while my great-grandfather and assorted relatives were en route from Italy to the US. Stalled by the news of their patriarch's death, they instead settled in France. I am sure there is more to that story. I suspect the mafia may be involved.

25. I always thought the story was one of the most important parts of a relationship. Now I realize that the relationship is more important than the story.

26. Snow Patrol has a song with line, "I want to hear you laugh like you really mean it, collapse into me tired with joy." I've done that. I can't wait to do it again.

27. My being stressed out tends to stress other people out, which only stresses me out more, because I don't want to mess up other people's days while I freak out.

28. It's only recently come to my attention that other people can take care of their own stress levels, and I can continue to take care of my own.

29. When I was in the fifth grade, I got glasses. The only thing I wanted more was braces. I so wanted to have both braces and glasses. I never got braces.

30. The fact that I never had braces is both a source of pride for my parents and a source of strange disappointment for me.

31. There was a period of about two years when I purposely didn't wear my glasses when I needed to, because I liked the way the world looked a bit softer around the edges when I didn't wear them.

32. I have no solid ethnic identity. I am a mix of Polish, Italian, French, Irish, Scottish and Kentucky Blackfoot Indian, and two of my grandparents (one on each side) came from the South. That means I am 50% Southern hick Belle.

33. I have blue eyes and blondish hair just like my daddy. But if you look closely, it's easy to see that I have the blue eyes from my mom's side of the family. This means that my looks are misleading. I take pleasure in confusing people with my looks.

34. I walk just like my father. My body is like a smaller, thinner, female version of his, down to the feet. I once found a picture of my grandmother when she's about 25, and her body looks just like mine, right down to the bony clavicle. It was the first time I had seen physical evidence that my DNA goes back further than just my parents. This both comforts and disturbs me.

35. I haven't spoken to anyone on my mom's side of the family in over four years.

36. There are days when this feels endlessly freeing and others when it feels infinitely sad.

37. I have a cousin I've never met. This is ironic when you consider that I spent a great deal of my childhood begging my mom's younger brother to get married and have a baby so that I wouldn't be the only grandchild. When he did all those things, it was after the great rift of 2003.

38. My cousin on the other side stopped talking to me later in 2003, and I've yet to figure out way. My grandmother won't tell me (though I suspect she knows), and I do miss the great conversations I had with that cousin.

39. It troubles me greatly when people just *stop* talking to me for no apparent reason.

40. Though my parents were both raised Catholic, they each had one non-Catholic parent. My parents, in turn, raised me Catholic but taught me that other faiths have value, too.

41. I believe this is why I am okay dating (and hopefully marrying) a man who would never be confused with a Catholic.

42. I did, indeed, survive 12 years of Catholic schooling. I will always be grateful that my parents didn't send me to the big, scary public school up the road, but I have nothing against public school in general. It's bad public schools that would have been the setting for many an adolescent torment that I am against.

43. I used to want a houseful of children. Six, seven, eight...keep counting. Now that I've moved beyond the age when I simply assumed children could be cared for like stuffed animals (the ones that bothered me got shoved under the bed), I realize that two is a much more reasonable number.

44. I have no siblings.

45. I have written a novel. Algonquin books requested 100 sample pages. They ultimately passed. This happened in 2004, and I have told relatively few people, because it seems like a failure.

46. I have not written anything even remotely resembling a novel since then, but I am just about ready to try again.

47. As a result of a wealth of things, I am far too sensitive for my own good.

48. I have a fascination with minatures - miniature dollhouse furniture, tiny pens, anything that is a mini version of something that comes in a larger size. I always crave one of those model-mini tents that they had at camping stores. Thinking about them now makes me realize I'd still be happy to have one.

49. For no reason other than that he played Lloyd Dobbler I have, and will always have, a crush on John Cusack.

50. His sidekick, Jeremy Piven, AKA Ari Gold on Entourage, has also long been a favorite of mine.

51. My other non-sensical crushes include Tim Robbins and Terrence Howard.

52. WG and I have finally reached the stage where we can discuss our "top five" (the celebrities with which we would not mind sleeping, despite our general feelings on extra-marital sex). I can tell you all of his, but I keep forgetting mine. I know that David Duchovney and Heath Ledger are on it...and maybe Matt Damon...

53. I love vampire movies. Dracula...okay, but I'm talking violent, bloody, obnoxious and lots of bad language. I'm talking Blade and Underworld.

54. When a boy broke up with me in college, I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I told him that his decision "lacked courage," hung up the phone and went to watch Blade. He is officially the only boy to break up with me.

55. I am in my first real, long-term relationship, and each week, each month presents new challenges and new things to appreciate.

56. I am a Catholic, but I have major issues with a few of the positions the church takes, though not the ones people might expect. I am also involved with someone who is not a Catholic, so it makes it easier for me to gradually absorb into another church.

57. Still fighting the ultimate decision to leave the church, I have not become familiar with our new church, and I can't even tell you the denomination.

58. I am convinced that I ran into a pointy-wall corner when I was around eleven and hurt my nose, resulting in the bump I can't stand. My mother denies this ever happened and simply tells me that I have her mother's nose.

59. I firmly believe that my dogs and cats and all other pets are better looking, better behaved and better tempered than other people's pets. I am sure I will feel the same about my children.

60. When I was 21, I had a 5 pound cyst removed from the webbing between my ovary an my fallopian tube.

61. I am mildly convinced that my best male friend is gay. This both worries me, because he is so staunchly Catholic that he would never come out, and excites me, because if he did, then I would have a gay friend. Yes, I have been influenced by watching too many episodes of Will and Grace.

62. I am beginning to realize that this list will make me look at least slightly ridiculous, but what's the Internet for if not to show myself for the naive, silly, quirky, quaint girl I really am?

63. I am both stronger and weaker than I think I am.

64. I don't like to swear, but every once in a while, something slips out. I either end up feeling slightly dirty or just a little bit proud of myself.

65. I admire my father more than I can possibly express.

66. I wish I went dancing more often.

67. I have two pierced holes in my right hear and three in my left.

68. I may want a tattoo someday.

69. I unashamedly listened to the Backstreet Boys all through college, but one of my dear friends and roomates listened to N'Sync and Britney Spears, so I never felt awkward about it.

70. The Goo Goo Dolls "Acoustic #3" makes me want to cry, same with Sarah McLaughlin's "I Love You," Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water" and Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds," all for different reasons.

80. I love photography. I love black and white photography. I want a black and white photo lab so that I can indulge myself in my hobby instead of pining for it.

81. I don't give my mom enough credit.

82. I want to live abroad or at least in another state, and I can't bear the thought of staying in my hometown for the rest of my life.

83. I hoped that when I became a librarian, all of my doubts and questions about what I wanted to do with my life would cease. They have in some ways but not in others.

84. There are many days when I hate that being a librarian mostly means helping people use the printer.

85. In ten years, I hope to be married, own a home, have children and have published some of my writing.

86. Despite dating a winemaker for the last ten months, it's only been in the last two or so that I've come to really comprehend what goes into wine and winemaking and wine tasting. And that's because I read two books about the Napa and Sonoma Valleys.

87. I love to bake, but I find it's more of a solo hobby. I turn up the music and stir and bake away. It's awesome and calming and I feel like I'm doing something useful.

88. I want to learn how to bake fancier things. Let's add that to my 10 year list.

89. Though I sometimes feel fluent in French, I'm not really, and I crave the chance to be fluent in a language other than English (and "manspeak" doesn't count).

90. I want to cook gourmet meals, but there are days when I wish I could just go home and find a lasagne waiting for me in the oven.

91. I feel prettier when I wear jewelry, but not necessarily when I wear makeup.

92. I still remember sitting and watching my mom put on her makeup. It never took more than five minutes, even when she was getting dressed up. It feels like those years were too short, and I miss watching her scurry around getting ready for work.

93. I want to be artsy, but I don't know where to start.

94. I don't understand politics, not even in the slightest. I simply assume that all politicians are the same and that they're battling it out over mostly meaningless details. But I respect that Irene wants to go into politics, at least for a little while, and try to change the world...because she understands what that's all about.

95. I admire each and every one of my friends for different reasons and look to them as examples, in different ways, of how to live.

96. I really like my feet. They may very well be my favorite body part.

97. I may not be good at discerning the smells in wine, but I can discern the smells in people and animals. I love that Bailey (the German Shepherd) smells like sunshine, that Marley (orange cat) smells vaguely sweet, that my dad smells like Drakar Noir no matter what cologne he's actually wearing, that my mom uses Magic Noir, that WG smells like himself. My grandparents all have their own smells. My parents' house has a smell. It's the familiar, recognizable smells that I love.

98. The late afternoon is my favorite time of day, Thursday is my favorite day of the week, October is my favorite month, Fall is my favorite season. I'm also fond of sunny days in March, rainy days in June and fog.

99. I wish I could sing.

100. I love that I still find enjoyment in the little things in life, and I hope and pray that my children find that same pleasure in the world, whenever they should choose to be born.

Only

With the way my life has gone the past few months, I needed a book that would make me feel better about being me, about how I came to be the person I am. I needed to know that I am not alone in the way I think, feel, hope and act.

Only Child: Writers on the Singular Joys and Solitary Sorrows of Growing Up Solo provided just the ticket.

Growing up, whenever I was asked if I had siblings, I always replied, "No, but I have cousins," as though that would make up for being the only child of very loving parents. Of course, I only spent large chunks of time with those cousins in the summers during an eight year period. Both before and after that time, I was very much an only child, with no younger kids to watch, no olders to envy.

Several of the writers, especially Deborah Siegel and Lynn Harris, speak directly to my heart. They speak of being the anchor of a strongly founded triangular family. They speak of not exactly being spoiled, but never having to want for anything, either. The talk about wanting an older brother. That's what I always wanted. And they speak, too, of hoping that maybe, just maybe, their father had some tryst that resulted in a child who would come to live with this triangular family, making it a more balanced square. Of course they, like me, had respectable fathers who loved their mothers and didn't have relationships that resulted in unclaimed children. But fantasizing about an older brother is safe, because it cannot really threaten the status quo. An older brother is simply not going to materialize.

I wanted an older brother to protect me from bullies. To be just enough older than me to have friends I could date, when the time came. It never occurred to me that my imaginary older brother would be a bully target, or, like my own father was to his sisters, a bully himself. We would have a strong, stable, respectful relationship.

I was always proud to be grouped in the "You don't seem like an only child" group. In the past five years, or so, that statement has grated on my nerves, as though I should feel especially proud that I know how to share my Barbies and don't pitch a tantrum if I am asked to eat brussel sprouts.

Unlike some of the writers, I rarely had friends who were onlies. As a matter of fact, encountering one was like running across a unicorn, "I've heard that you existed, but I didn't really know there were others like me." Of course, this could have to do with the fact that I grew up going to Catholic school, and, yes, folks, the stereotype is true, "them Catholics like to make babies." More times than I care to count, even as a six year old (or younger!), I was asked, why I had no siblings. I always knew the truth, that I was a special beloved miracle. And I would generally say something along those lines.

What I would like to say, though, is this, "I was the only one strong enough to claw my way through enough months to survive outside the womb."

Because, there were two before me. There were babies miscarried early on, in the months before I came into the world as a miraculous little butterfly. One of the authors writes about dodging the "bullet" of an adopted sibling, as her parents were considering adoption when she was conceived. They were next in line, and could have said yes to a second child. One of those two other babies, hopefully not one conceived too close to my own conception, might have made it. Then, my entire world would be different. Or I wouldn't exist at all.

Still, there's a part of me that misses them, in some phantom way. At some point in time, before me, two other little lives, blended from my mother and my father, existed. They didn't exist long enough to live in the world, but they were here, on this planet. And I never got to know them.

Maybe that's why I've never gravitated towards the onlies in the world. I was never meant to be one. My parents wanted more children, and tried, repeatedly, to have them. They tried adoption, prayer, anything and everything, before realizing, with finality, when I was about 14, that I was it, and I was plenty.

I kept up hope, all those years, that there would be more of me. I never felt unloved, and I was honored to be a part of the waiting. I practiced being a sibling by bossing around advising my younger cousins. I was patiently waiting, along with my parents, for an addition to our home. As though, if we were all good enough, an angel, or a stork, or Tinkerbell, would reward us with a little wrapped bundle in blue.

And I graciously accepted the compliment about my never seeming like an only, because, you see, I never intended to stay one.

Daddy's Girl

It's no secret that I'm a Daddy's Girl. I mean, my mom and I have a fabulous relationship, but I am always Daddy's Girl. I love my mom to no end, but there is something different about the love a daughter has for her father, especially when she has as good a father as I do (though, being somewhat biased, I find it hard to imagine that anyone could have a better father than I do).

I applaud my mother for seeing the man my father would become in the boy he was. I thank her, to no end, for recognizing that he was the best husband for her and the best father for her future children.

It's also no secret that, to me, my father is a hero, nor that, for better or for worse, I am entirely his child.

In honor of Father's Day, some stellar things about my daddy:

Three Beautiful Things About My Father
1) He loves me without question and without judgment. He listens to me as I make my decisions and gives me advice when I ask for it. He lets me make my own mistakes and live my own life, stepping only when he sees me making the same mistakes he did, cautioning me about the possible negative outcomes.

2) He loves my mother wholeheartedly.

3) He is a good and honorable man. He taught me to give my all, to try my best and to always, always, act with honor and justice.

Three Beautiful Things About Being My Father's Daughter
1) I get to have his hair color, his eye color, a feminine version of his build, and his walk. This means my legs are strong, that I'm built for running and swimming, that I may be described as long and lean. My feet are not big. My knees are knobby and distinctive. My ankles are weak. I wouldn't change a single thing.

2) Being both an only child and a girl close to her father, I have learned a great deal about what to look for in my future husband. I would never date, or moreover marry, a man my father did not respect. I hope I have even a fraction of my father's judge of character.

3) I also inherited his style of thinking, which means that I am not alone in seeing the world with my own particular, peculiar perspective.

Three Beautiful Things About Being a Daddy's Girl
1) My father would do anything for me. Anything. Anytime. Any place. Thus far, this has involved picking me up from out-of-the way places, lifting heavy objects, having a house filled with a menagerie of pets and threatening to beat up one particularly obnoxious teacher in high school.

2) I know the proper way that a gentleman should treat a lady.

3) I know a heck of a lot more about cars and sports than a lot of women (yes, my love for baseball also comes from my mama, but what can I say, she chose well!).

Three More, Just for Good Measure
1) Watching Daddy walk through the hallway at work, proud, strong, confident in his ability, and seeing people toss admiring glances his way.

2) Knowing that I already know the song for the Father-Daughter Dance at my far-off wedding and knowing that it is the absolute perfect choice (and I'm not telling anyone until that day comes).

3) Knowing that he's saved me a hundred times or more from danger I didn't even know existed. No matter what, no matter what husband may enter my life, Daddy will be my hero.

The Three Best Pictures
1) In the NICU in the hospital where I was born. Me, as a newborn, several weeks early, looking like a tiny little eggplant in his large, solid, dependable hands. Him, young (younger than I am now), with no gray hair, no wrinkles whatsoever, wearing a yellow hospital cover-all and a look of complete and utter excitement on his face as he ponders the future of his brand new baby daughter.

2) The backyard in our first house. It's him, me and our beloved dog Fanny. He's kneeling on one leg, and I'm scooted in close to him with my elbow on his bent knee. Fanny's on his other side. He and I are grinning, and Fanny looks pleased as punch to be getting the attention.

3) My college graduation. Side by side. He's in his black leather jacket and a Cal hat (Go Bears!), and I'm still in my graduation regalia, blonder-than-usual hair (something I'll never do again). He looks proud. I look relieved. We both look a little bit scared about getting back in the caravan of vehicles and heading back home to deal with the mish-mash of crazy relatives.

Yum Yum

I got tagged by Ms. Single Muslimah, and now it's my turn to list my five favorite places to eat. This is not going to be easy, as I love my food!

1. Sushi House - It's a wonderfully yummy mix of inexpensive Japanese food, including a lovely menu full of delectable and delightful sushi treats. This joint used to be just a tiny store-front restaurant in a shopping center in a tucked-away corner of the Bay Area. Now it's an area must with a sometimes two hour waiting list, and no, they don't take reservations. So, for an early lunch, a bunch of time spent gabbing away with Irene and a prelude to an exciting day of bargain shopping, it hits the spot. I recommend ordering a few different sushi options (especially the Cherry Blossom, yum!) and sharing around the table - so much fun I can hardly stay on my chair.

2. Mario's - Seriously the best burritos ever. Seriously. And so cheap. Drop everything, go to Berkeley and find this place, like NOW.

3. Pasta Pomodoro - My favorite chain Italian food (and location of the possible first date with WG, depending on which one of us you ask). Olive Garden's good, but Pasta Pomodoro has an often changing menu that includes things made with butternut squash and braised beef and sage. I just like saying the words. Their tiramisu is also quite enjoyable (though not as good as, theirs). Plus, they've got ambiance, and they'll let you stay until closing just munching on the last of your dinner and enjoying the company.

4. Alioto's - My all-time favorite special-occassion restaurant (something I share with Mama). People will tell you that it's a tourist destination, that "real" Bay Area people don't eat there. Well, so what? Then those "real" people are missing out on some fabulous seafood sausage, views of the pier and those characters they call waiters.

5. Home - With a mother who can cook like nobody's business, a father who's a whiz with that tower of flame that is apparently known as a BBQ, a boyfriend who's a perfectionist in the kitchen and a me who's not half bad herself, home is quite often my favorite place to eat.

Okee dokee, those are my top five. Now, I need recommendations from Ari (of Baking and Books), Mama, Clare (I would accept a simple three, in keeping with the theme of your blog), Parchemina and someone who reads this blog but doesn't usually comment, leave a comment with a link to your blog and your post about your fave eateries.

One Night in Vegas

Tears were shed.

Purses were carefully tossed aside.

Feet were tapped.

Words were mouthed.

A 26-year-old woman bounced around like a six-year-old on Christmas morning.

A 51-year-old woman bounced around like a six-year-old on Christmas morning.

A 52-year-old man perked up a bit when two dudes started rapping towards the end.

And all too soon it was over...but...now that you mention it....

It's all coming back to me nooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Taste Buds Dance With Joy

In the past couple of weeks, some yummy things have danced across my taste buds.

I'll start with Daddy's birthday dinner, because, alas, I have no pictures and can only describe the meal in words. We ate at Syrah and throughoughly enjoyed it. We started with a cheese course including:

Crescenza
Bellwether Farm, Valley Ford, Sonoma, California. Cheese Maker Liam Callahan. Jersey cow's milk, this soft, creamy, smooth, yeasty, slightly tart cheese gets fruitier as it ages A great "Bridge" Cheese to have with opposing cheeses. Aged 2-3 weeks.

Red Hawk
Cow Girl Creamery, Tomales Bay, California. Cow's milk, organic triple cream, washed rind made by Maureen Cunnie, aged 6 weeks. This staff favorite is flavorful, rich & unctuous.

(picture from the Syrah website)

Something from the Cheese Monger
Changing Often at the Cheese Monger's Whim -- this happened to be the best cheese of the bunch, and was something called a St. Patty's

Mommy, Daddy, WG and I all quite enjoyed an actual cheese course, then dined on our fancy little salads. Mommy and I had mixed green salads that were actually wrapped in two long cucumber slices and included uncooked peas and pistachios! Daddy and WG had the romaine salad that included a side of prosciuotto. Everyone was quite content.

And then, on this rainy evening in Santa Rosa, a city that is home to none of us, yet vaguely familiar for some reason, we dined on our main courses. Mommy had lamb, something she never eats at home, because I refuse to eat it, and Daddy doesn't really like it. WG had spicy pork loin over a marscapone cheese and grits mixture. I had roast duck. Daddy, though. Daddy had the best thing, a five-pepper steak of 28-day aged beef. Incredible. Lucky, took, as it was his birthday, so it's only right that he got the best meal.

After eating, we just sat at our table (the nice little table that had a lovely "reserved" sign on it when we walked in--it's been a long time since I actually saw one of those) and enjoyed the warm, pleasant contentment in our stomachs. We forgot the crazy May rain, the fact that WG had to drive a far distance to get home, that the remaining three still needed to get back to Mommy and Daddy's hotel to do presents and cake (an amazing German Chocolate cake that my mom only makes once a year)and then that I needed to drive away to my own little apartment and get up for work this morning.

We just sat and enjoyed the company.

Happy Birthday, Daddy (not that he reads this blog, but hey...)!

Other foods passing through my kitchen of late:



I wanted a good salad. Like a really good salad. And I made one! Yeah! Gorgeous green spinach, craisins, walnuts, gorgonzola all tossed with a vinegrette mixed with just a bit of blue cheese dressing. Mmm. Veggies can taste so good sometimes!


Two salmon dishes were enjoyed Chez Sarah last week, and the one in the picture above is the one that involved cedar planks and a gas grill. It was scrumptious.


But the truly lovely surprise of a meal was this one, Salmon in Lime Butter Sauce (see the full meal pictured above). Mmm. I served it with the salad up top and a sourdough baguette.

And then, of course, there must be dessert. I fell back on an old favorite (and a recipe I make fairly well, if I do say so myself): Chocolate Chip Cookies from the Better Homes and Garden cookbook. Try it with dark chocolate ghiradelli chips - soooo yummy.



So, that's the latest installment in the Small Kitchen Confessional (the fake name for my fake cooking blog)...till next time, happy eating!

Birthdays and Whatnot

My mommy had a birthday! Thank you for the well wishes via blog...she's one of my readers, so she was happy to see thos :).

Despite some random health concerns this week, she had a smile on her face anytime I saw her. I think that, despite the fact that her two best (local) friends nearly forgot her birthday completely, she had a good week. It's important that she realizes how much the people in her life care about her. It's not just love, it's caring.

Love can only go so far, but I think that caring about someone, even if it tends to get delegated to a few steps below love (i.e, "I love you" followed by "Well, I'm not there yet, but I really care about you). No, caring is perhaps the physical testimony to loving someone. Caring about someone means bringing them a snickers bar when you know they need one, or making sure that there is always coke in the house, even though you, yourself don't drink it, or picking up one of those samples at Costco and giving it to someone when you get home from grocery shopping. It's the little things, the little happy things that show love.

So, Mommy had a birthday. And despite her fears that we, her husband of 29 years and daughter of 26 years, both lifelong Catholics, would forget that we could not eat meat on the Friday before Easter and inadvertently take her somewhere that did not serve fish, we went to a lovely Japanese restaurant (sort of the local version of Beni Hana), where they prepared us our (fish) meal right in front of us. We dined on calamari, halibut and shrimp. The men (my dad and WG) both enjoyed a Kirin (very wheaty Japanese beer), and my dad was thoroughly pleased by WG's statement that, "I'll get whatever he gets, because he knows what he's doing" (yes, in a Japanese restaurant, my dad MORE than knows his stuff...so points were scored, and both my mom and I were very pleased by this). My dad ordered my mom a Strawberry Daquiri (since the introduction of WG into my life, more alcohol has been consumed in my family than in the last five years combined, and this is not necessarily a bad thing), so that should could, indeed "sip Bacardi like it's your birfday."

Later, we went to grab a coffee, headed home to blow out the candles, do presents and watch an old (but incredibly funny) Saturday Night Live. In between, yes literally, in the moment when she was about to see the identity of her presents, my mom peeked through the doorway of the kitchen so that she could see the large TV in the family room and see if her beloved Giants might just see fit to Beat L.A. on her birthday (they didn't, but they gave her an early gift on the 5th by winning 5-3). It was quite comical, watching her pause mid-open to lean over as far as she could to see the television.

In the end, all the presents got opened, she shed some tears, and she was happy.

And that's really all that matters.

Happy Birthday, Mama!!