Yosemite: Summer VS. Autumn; A Scientific Experiment

TITLE: Summer or Autumn: When is the best time to visit Yosemite?

BACKGROUND:
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever," declared John Keats in the opening line of his poem Endymion (1818). But come now. Was this declaration really true? Was a beautiful thing beautiful all the time, 365 days a year, forever and ever, into infinity? I had my doubts. Case in point, when I get my hair cut it looks, if not beautiful at least pretty good, I'd even say "above average". But six weeks later it's an unruly mess that doesn't register on the scale of "pretty", "good" or even "below average".

No, my fellow scientists! I had to test Keats' belief with my own scientific test.

This fall Mr. Wonderful and I visited Yosemite National Park and between the fall colors and sunny weather we found it a thing of beauty. However, everywhere we hiked in the park--Bridalveil Fall, Yosemite Fall, just around the "fall" air--everyone kept telling us to come back in the summer when the waterfalls would be running, the weather would be warm and it would be super beautiful.

QUESTION:  Were they right? In Yosemite, was summer more beautiful than fall? I had to know and the way I would discover this was not by blindly accepting what they said as truth. What a concept! Rather I would determine this myself by examining the cold, hard facts of science. A-ha!

METHODS AND MATERIALS:
First, I had to determine how I would test my Question. The most scientific way would be by taking a scientific sampling of the scientific subjects. In other words, ask people their opinions. During our autumn trip, I posed my question to Mr.Wonderful, the Ahwahnee Hotel Clerk and the chipmunk I saw on a rock. They all agreed that fall was the prettiest time to visit Yosemite. However being caught up in the moment, were people--and chipmunks--just saying that fall was the most beautiful time because it was here and now? What if I returned in the summer and put forward the same question? Would people--and Chip and Dale--say the same thing about summer then? Hmmm.

I determined that my first method was tainted by personal opinions. No, fellow scientific thinkers, I needed to use solid facts to determine if fall was more beautiful in Yosemite than summer and the best way to do that was by playing Rock, Paper, Scissors with Mr.Wonderful. After several games where I rocked his scissors and he papered my rock, I discovered that this method was creating skewed data because Mr. Wonderful was still voting for "fall" whenever he won. Hmmm.

Because of Mr. Wonderful's commitment to the beauty of fall, this second technique wouldn't work either. No, my fellow, hard science thinkers, I needed a new method to collect unbiased data to compare these seasons visually. Eureka! I could use my pictures! Since I'd been to Yosemite both in the summer and the fall I could use my own photographs to compare that one special place in two different seasons to determine if beautiful Yosemite was beautiful all year long. Or not.

DATA AND RESULTS:
In the summer deer were present eating green grasses and leaves. Although they were a bit skittish since their food was as plentiful as shopping at CostCo.

In the fall, deer were abundant along the hiking trails where they had come out of the forests to graze. Busy eating what they could find in the proverbial couch cushions, they were completely unperturbed by us visitors.

The summer meadows were lush with sylvan green hues.

The fall meadows were painted in colors of steel, amber and gold.

In the summer the falls--Yosemite and Bridalveil--gushed thousands of gallons of water a minute.  

In the autumn the falls--Yosemite and Bridalveil--were trickles of water, as if someone forgot to shut off the tap.

The Merced River was warm enough to paddle down in a raft wearing a bikini.

The Merced River was too narrow, shallow and frigid for anything except gazing at it.

In summer, El Capitan was grand but a little foggy.

In the fall, El Capitan was just grand.

Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.

CONCLUSION: Each season had its high peaks and low valleys. The summer had the water and fog but the fall had little water but all those rich colors. Taken together however, Yosemite, was a thing of beauty in the summer and the fall. Yes, Mr. Keats, I agree!

There was one hitch to my method: I only looked at two of the four seasons. Therefore, I was unable to discuss the park in the winter or the spring. Hmmm. Never fear, fellow scientists! That just means I have to make two more trips--in winter and spring--to Yosemite National Park--all in the name of science and beauty!

Book Giveaway

Are you on Goodreads?
You want to be on Goodreads?
Here's a reason to be on Goodreads!

Goodreads.com is a popular website just for book lovers and readers. Through it I'm hosting a Giveaway of my book Evolution of a Wine Drinker! Enter to win one of the five signed copies by clicking on the link below; then at the Goodreads site, click the "Enter to Win" button.

The Giveaway ends December 10, just in time for Christmas, so enter soon!

As I say at the betting windows at the racetrack, I've got to be "in" it to "win" it. Make sure you're "in" on my wine book Giveaway!

Thanks and good luck!

Yosemite Sam!

Yosemite!

It's amazing how this one name conjures up so many things. Specifically: 1) A gorgeous National Park; 2) Getting back to nature; 3) The first half of Sam's nickname.

So when Mr. Wonderful and I took off to the Sierra Nevada to see Yosemite! we were hoping to see all these elements and more.

We saw Half Dome, the half of a granite mountain that is the iconic symbol of Yosemite. This unique, 5,000 foot high rock formation was made famous by Ansel Adams and annually attracts countless adventurers to climb all 5,000 feet of it. We did not climb it because we are not that adventurous.

We saw the granite mountain, El Capitan. Anything called "El Capitan" tells you it's important. The only mountain more important than this one is "El General". But we didn't see it because it was spending the weekend in Vegas playing Blackjack.

We saw Bridalveil Fall. In November, the highest waterfall in North America is still the highest, but it's less impressive in the Water-Flow Department. Actually, the waterfall is more of a tiny trickle.

 Mr. Wonderful saw a mule deer up close and personal. I don't know who was more shocked at being so close to the other--the deer or the dear Mr. Wonderful.

We saw a male mule deer with a rack of antlers on his head that put every princess tiara to shame. His points were so impressive and slightly scary, especially when he looked at me head on. Although deer attacks are rare, I didn't want to be the first one of the year to be attacked by one of Bambi's parents.

We saw so many natural wonders and beautiful animals in Yosemite! But we had one grand disappointment: We did not see Yosemite Sam. And believe me, I looked and looked for him.

Nevertheless, if you love nature, camping, Ansel Adams photography and want to have your breath taken away several times a day, go to Yosemite National Park! Just don't expect to see Sam when you're there.

Ahhh, Yosemite!

New Purchase

With all the busy-ness of Thanksgiving and Black Friday, I gave myself a treat and bought a new bud vase.

It's the perfect vessel for this lovely bouquet I received from Flower Fortunes!

It makes for a bright light on a gray day!

Coming, Going, Gone!

Face it: Thanksgiving is the best holiday! 

There aren't any lines, gifts, or gift returns. At least there shouldn't be. 

Instead Thanksgiving focusses on being with family and friends, eating, drinking and beating everyone at Pétanque! I do admit that I have a home court advantage.

Every other day of the year you can hustle, work and wish for what you want. But on Thanksgiving you take stock and give thanks for what you already have. 

Like good food.

A dressed turkey.

A cooked turkey.

Not dropping the turkey.

It's best to enjoy Thanksgiving for what it is. Because just like that--poof!--it's over! 

I'm thankful for my family, friends, readers, fellow writers, beating everyone at Pétanque, and my home court Pétanque advantage! Happy Thanksgiving!

Wines for Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving turkey? Check!
Cranberry relish? Check!
Wine? No check!

You don't have your wine picked out for Thanksgiving Dinner yet? Before running around like a turkey with its head cut off, do yourself a favor and check out these Thanksgiving dinner wine ideas.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sprucing Up the Palm Tree: BEFORE and AFTER

"The palm tree looks bare," I said pulling on my gardening gloves.
"Palm trees are bare," Mr. Wonderful said looking up from his manga comic book.
"The tree's so tall you can't see its foliage."
"Palm trees are tall."
"It looks like a utility pole."
"Palm trees are unity poles!"

Mr. Wonderful was good and correct at many things especially digging trenches, breaking up concrete and reading a whole 20-volume manga comic book series in 2.6 seconds. He was also correct that our palm tree was a utility pole since the cable company had attached its cable to it with a hook and nail. And yes my spouse was correct that our Mexican Fan Palm tree was tall; 70 feet, to be exact. And oh, alright! He was also correct that palm trees were void of foliage unless you craned your head back, grabbed a telescope and looked at Venus and then a little to the right. 

But still! Such a tall, bare utility pole could be beautiful if I just added some colorful foliage to make it look more like a tree and less like the leg of an elephant. Albeit a very tall elephant. 

My first thought was Bougainvillea. Who doesn't love the fuchsia pink petal-like leaves of that gorgeous plant? Just imagine I'd have a palm tree wrapped in a pink confection like a princess or upside-down stick of cotton candy. Of course I'd have to fight the thorns because every thing of beauty has a sharp side, like roses, cacti and pop music stars with their security details.  

On second thought, I could go with green ivy. Ivy grows everywhere and up anything, if I really wanted something at my eyesight to look at, I could wrap my tree in ivy and presto! Get a lot of leafy foliage to look at. Of course the tree would resemble the Jolly Green Giant, or worse, a verdant version of Chewbaca from Star Wars. Grrrrrfff!

On third thought, I could go with something cool and laid back. Cool as in blue-colored and laid back as in low maintenance. That's it! I had me at "low maintenance".

I opted for Senecio vitalis "Serpents", which is just a fancy Latin name for Blue Chalk Sticks. I planted the little blue succulents around the base of the tree and ran a drip hose around them. Just because they're succulents doesn't mean they don't need a little moisture. Then I showed Mr. Wonderful.

"The palm tree's still bare," Mr. Wonderful said looking at its trunk.
"Palm trees are bare," I said taking off my garden gloves.
"The tree looks like a utility pole."
"Palm trees are unity poles!"
"The little blue things around the base are cool."
"You like them?" my heart skipped a beat.
"They're cool looking."
"And they're low maintenance."
"Cool," he said patting my shoulder.

Cool and colorful indeed!

A Big Success!

"Are you going to forget what to do?"Mr. Wonderful said putting the box of books in the trunk.
"Nope," I said clutching the car keys.
"Are you nervous?"
"Nope."
"Have you ever done this before?"
"Nope!"

All week the calmer I was, the more nervous Mr. Wonderful grew. Until now, the night of my first book signing, Mr. Wonderful had morphed into a mess of nerves acting like a skittish colt before running the the biggest race of its life at Churchill Downs, and I was like a Zen Buddhist monk saying "Om"and eager to get a glass of wine in my hands. Because that's what Buddhist monks do, they say "Om" and hold glasses of wine in their hands.

This week was the very first event for my book, Evolution of a Wine Drinker. It took place at V Wine Room and included me reading an excerpt from my book, signing copies of the book and pouring glasses of wine for friends and attendees.

While Mr. Wonderful was home pacing in the pasture, I was living it up with a wonderful night of sharing my book with some funny comedy friends, some charming wine group friends and some new newly-made newbie friends. It was wonderful!

I was so thankful to the gals who spearheaded the event, V Wine Room for hosting and to everyone who came out for it! Thank you all for your support!

I was especially happy that my dear writer friend Gayle Carline could come. She'd driven six hours in her work clothes to get there. Okay, maybe it just felt like six hours because driving anywhere in Los Angeles feels like six hours. As a fellow writer, I appreciated her words of wisdom.

"If you're nervous, drink a glass of wine," she said.
"What if I'm not nervous?"
"Then still drink a glass of wine!"

I embraced Gayle's advice wholeheartedly. In fact I embraced my friends and everyone who attended.

Back at the house Mr. Wonderful met me in the driveway. I guess he'd been pacing the length and breadth of our property the whole time I'd been away.

"Did you forget what to do?" he said lifting the box of books out of the trunk.
"Nope," I said clutching the car keys.
"Were you nervous?"
"Nope."
"Will you do it again?"
"YES!"

A Gazillion and One Things!

"The stucco guy is coming today," I said tapping my pencil and reading my to-do list.

"Yes," Mr. Wonderful said putting another coffee pod in the espresso machine.

"I have to buy Thanksgiving decorations for the house."

"Maybe."

"Walgreen's is selling Christmas merchandise already."

"No!" 

I loved my spouse but Mr. Wonderful's "shock" at the ever-encroaching Christmas shopping season was over the top. But that's because I knew his reaction was feigned and honestly? I'd already had my morning teapot of caffeine. He just didn't understand why I was so worked up about the retailers this year. I explained to him how everything had a season and the coo-coo crazy, rush-rush of Christmas shopping, office parties and buying/returning gifts would arrive soon enough. But since it was still November, we should enjoy this time for its autumn leaves, brown turkeys and red wines. Actually red wines were apropos all year long. I'm very accepting of red wines. And white wines, Champagnes, Amarettos, Calvados and hot toddys with rum. 

Don't get me wrong, I loved Christmas, St. Nick, reindeer, Tiny Tim and thinking of others but I didn't want to do all that until after the turkey was stuffed, cooked and eaten, which by my calendar, was still a week a way.

Plus, the truth of the matter was that since Mr. Wonderful and I were hosting Thanksgiving Dinner at our house this year, I had a gazillion and one things to do for Thanksgiving (don't forget that "one thing"!) before I could even get to Christmas. Hence my admonition to keep the Christmas season curtailed until after Thanksgiving Day. 

My Thanksgiving preparation plans included: 1) Writing up a food list that would be as long as Santa's Naughty and Nice list; 2) Writing up a list of drinks for the day including before dinner drinks, after dinner drinks and making-dinner drinks for the chef (make it a double!); 3) Driving to the respective food and drink stores to do reconnaissance; and 4) Finding decorations to put in my house to celebrate turkeys, cooking and Pilgrims when all that was available were Christmas wreaths, Christmas ornaments and Christmas Eggnog with hot toddys. Okay, that last one was fine in my book. 

I also had the stucco guy coming to the house to repair the gaping hole in the exterior of the house. I had to get that hole patched and painted before Thanksgiving dinner and with less than a week, I was running out of time.

"It's just another day," Mr. Wonderful shrugged.

"Thanksgiving is another day like a Tesla is 'just' a car," I said pouring more tea.

"You're acting frantic," Mr. Wonderful said as I downed a third pot of Gun Powder Chinese Green Tea.

"Don't you understand?" I said, my face twitching from all that Gun Powder Green Tea. "I have a gazillion and one things to do before Thanksgiving! And I can't forget that one thing!" Then I grabbed paper, pen and shopping bags and marched toward the door.

With the door wide open we both watched as another element of November happened outside: it started to rain. A lot. A monsoon-like downpour. This would not be a problem in the rest of the world but if you live in Los Angeles you either never learned or have completely forgotten how to drive in the rain, which meant that: 1) Driving to the grocery store for reconnaissance Thanksgiving shopping was impossible (unless I wanted to end up in a fender bender in the street); 2) Driving to the wine shop to buy the Turkey Day beverages was a no go (unless I wanted to end up in a ten car pile up in the parking lot); and 3) The stucco guy couldn't repair our gaping hole today. Argh! I had a gazillion and one things to do and now I couldn't do any of them!

"Want to go for a walk?" Mr. Wonderful said.

"In the rain?" He pulled his golf umbrella from the closet and we went out in the rain. We saw the brown leaves scattered on the ground like fairy dust, we saw bare-limbed trees reaching for the sky and directly over our heads we saw the garnet and gold colors of the umbrella. I squeezed Mr. Wonderful's arm. I had a gazillion and one things to do before Thanksgiving but right now I had remembered to do that "one thing": Enjoy this time.

She Did It!

"She did it," I said reading my computer screen.
"She who?" Mr Wonderful said looking up from his graphic novel.
"She made it."
"Made what?"
"It worked!"
"Worked what?!"

We married each other, bought a house together and were fixing up said house together yet Mr. Wonderful just couldn't get on the same page with me. It was totally clear what I meant and as my spouse and the man who promised to love, honor and read my mind, he should know exactly what I was referring when I looked at my computer screen.

"Are you watching a cat video," he said, a forefinger saving his page in the graphic novel.
I waved him over and showed him what had grabbed my attention: my friend Gayle Carline's blog post. When New Yorkers think of Southern Californians, they think of an air-head, surfer type, which is the polar opposite of who Gayle is. Like totally, Dude.

First off, Gayle is not a dude. Second, 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th, she's smart, funny, a talented horsewoman and uber busy writer. She writes a weekly humor column for the newspaper as well as a light-hearted series of mysteries set in Orange County. Seventh, she's gutsy because after I posted a "miraculous" chicken and rice recipe on my blog, this blonde dame with moxie tried it. Gayle made my recipe!

"How'd she do?" my spouse asked patting his empty belly.
"You'll have to read here to find out!"

Congrats, Gayle! Thanks for making it and reporting back!

If anyone else makes either the chicken and rice or my shrimp and lemon pasta recipes, please let me know! I'd love to hear--and see a picture--of how they turned out!

Bon Appetit!

Wine Tasting & Book Signing!

If you love comedy, wine and books--or even if you just "like" them--and you'll be in Los Angeles next Tuesday, you are welcome to a special Wine Tasting and Book Signing event!

What: Wine Tasting of red wines AND a reading from my book Evolution of a Wine Drinker in one night!

Where: V Wine Room; a classy, fun wine room that is housed in Charlie Chaplin's former actor's studio. If you want more Little Tramp facts, ask V's owner, Mikey!

Address:
V Wine Room
903 Westbourne Drive
West Hollywood, CA 90069

When: November 19, at 7:30 PM.

Who: You and Me!

Just in case you need a little nosh, V Wine Bar also has food items on the wine menu!

This is going to be a fun night of comedy and wine!

I hope to see you there! PROST!

Chicken and Rice--Recipe

Food. We have to eat it three times a day; but that three times a day adds up to hours of slicing, dicing and preparing meals. My goal is to cook a healthy dinner as efficiently and quickly as possible so I don't feel put upon and Mr. Wonderful has something good to eat when he comes home. I made this recipe for him, his three colleagues and me. I also had a little interspecies help from Jackson.

INGREDIENTS: feeds 5

Rice; 2 dry cups (plain, not Jasmine or any other flavored rice)

Water; 4 wet/fluid cups for the rice (American measurements are so confusing) 

Chicken legs; 10 (they cook faster than chicken breasts and aren't too large so guests can eat one or two without feeling piggy. Or maybe I'm talking about me feeling piggy?) 

Soup stock; 2 cubes (Use to flavor the rice. I use the low salt or sea salt stock varieties)

Bread crumbs; 1/2 cup (In advance, I grate hardened rice flour bread or rye flour bread and store the crumbs for just this type of impromptu dinner. Plus I like knowing all the spices used in the bread crumbs--in this case zero)

Onions; 2 diced 

Celery; 6 stalks diced
Carrots; 5 peeled and diced

Ground coriander; 2 teaspoons

Cumin; 2 teaspoons

Saffron; 1/2 teaspoon. (This will color the rice yellow and is purely used for cosmetic purposes and therefore not necessary since Saffron is expen$ive)

Salt; a couple shakes.

Parsley; chopped (I like the curly variety)

Red wine; 3/4 cup for the pot. The rest for you and your guests. 

DIRECTIONS:

1) Bring a pot of the water to boil on the stove top with the soup stock cubes and saffron. Once water boils, add rice. Bring rice to a boil then turn to simmer. 

2) Heat olive oil in Dutch oven over medium high heat. 

3) Open a bottle of red wine and pour yourself a glass.

4) Pour bread crumbs into mixing bowl and coat drumsticks. Put drumsticks into Dutch oven. Chicken needs time to cook, but once both sides of drumsticks are browned, add salt, onions, carrots, celery, coriander and cumin. Cover.

5) Add wine. Cover. The moisture will help imbue the chicken with these flavors and help cook it. 

6) When the meat is falling off the bone, dish into shallow bowls, garnish with fresh parsley, stir rice and dish up.

7) Serve. Voila!

I hope you enjoy this recipe as much as I do. If you make this meal, let me know how it goes!

Bon Appetit!

Working a Miracle, Again

"Perfect timing," I said answering the phone wearing my suit and heels. "I just walked in the door." 

"I'm leaving the studio now," Mr. Wonderful's voice sounded over the phone. "And I've got some friends with me."

"What if I meet you halfway and we all eat at a restaurant?"

"These guys miss home cooked meals."

"Invite them over next weekend and I'll make them something fabulous."

"They heard you can make dinner in 20 minutes and want to see it."

It's true. I had made a delicious shrimp and lemon pasta dinner in a mere 20 minutes for my spouse and his two work colleagues--Brian and Chad. Which to be honest, was a heaven-sent miracle. Evidently, the news of this miracle and its lemony flavor-fulness spread from those two men to all my spouse's contacts at the studio. Miracles are amazing but they do have a downside: after you do one, people start to expect them. All the time. And clearly tonight was no exception in the miracle expectation department.

Miracles also have an upside: after performing one, it's easy to perform it again. After making that shrimp and lemon pasta dish, I could now do it with my eyes closed, which--hey!--would be either another miracle, divine intervention or a serious kitchen fire hazard. Then I got the bad news.

"I'm bringing Brian and Chad," Mr. Wonderful said.

"Oh," my smile faded.

"Frank's coming, too. And he doesn't eat seafood or gluten."

"Oh," my heart sank.

"See you in 20, no, 19 minutes." Then my spouse hung up.

Here's the thing. I'd already served the miraculous shrimp and lemon pasta dish to Brian and Chad so I couldn't make that for them again because what kind of miracle would that be? In the New Testament, Jesus performed 37 miracles such as 1) Healing the sick, 2) Making the deaf speak, and 3) Turning water into wine. In other words, they were all different. Which to be fair, is part of the definition of a miracle: you do something amazing once and that's amazing but then it's a done deal. If you do the same miracle a second time, it's no longer a miracle, instead it's just well-rehearsed like a Shakespeare play, a Penn and Teller performance or a "reality" show. 

Besides, even if I had wanted to repeat that shrimpy miracle, I couldn't because of Frank's dietary limitations. Nope, it had to be a new miracle and I should have started it a minute ago.

Miracle #2 happened in steps:

1) Scanned the pantry for gluten-free (GF) items. Discovered I had lots of GF food like: peanut butter, Jell-O, a stick of butter and some rice. 

2) Jackson the cat heard me open the pantry--where his food is kept--and sauntered into the kitchen to meow for some food. 

3) Grabbed the rice, put a pot of water on the burner.

4) Needed to add some fat to the rice and my options included said peanut butter, Jell-O and butter. Played Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide which to use. Butter won.

5) Jackson sniffed the butter and meowed for some food.

6) Scanned the refrigerator for something to go with the rice. I nixed the salmon filets, the halibut steaks and the tin of salted anchovies. Cursed all fish for being so tasty that I bought and stocked a lot of them in my kitchen to the detriment of other proteins. Cursed self for not having more options. Looked at clock and saw I had 11 minutes. Cursed the clock, time and miracles! Asked for some help pulling off this second miracle.

6) Jackson joined me at the refrigerator, sniffed its contents, and stretched up to the second shelf where he noticed a package of chicken legs and meowed for some food.

7) Of course! I praised my brilliant feline for having the best nose west of the Atlantic Ocean and grabbed the chicken legs. Rolled the chicken legs in rice flour bread crumbs, put them in a Dutch Oven with sliced onions, celery and carrots and more butter on the stove top.

8) Set out a bowl of Lucques olives, another bowl for the pits, and toothpicks. Set the table for five, grabbed a bottle of wine and uncorked it. 

9) Raced to bedroom to change out of my suit and heels. Scanned closet and discovered I had more GF foods in my pantry than I did clothes in my closet to wear for a second miracle. Looked in the mirror and debated changing said clothes. Then decided… nah.

10) Returned to the pantry and opened a tin of cat food for Jackson who meowed and rubbed against my leg. 

Just then, Mr. Wonderful entered with three famished pals. They commented on how good things smelled, how good the wine was and when they actually ate the food, how good the home cooked meal was. The three guests congratulated me on another miracle. Brian and Chad were especially appreciative since they had now witnessed a second miracle in my kitchen. They all deemed the meal delicious. 

I accepted their praise with a gracious smile. Knowing all along, I couldn't have managed it without serious interspecies teamwork from my little, furry helper, Jackson. The cat jumped on my lap and licked his chops. All around it was a solid second miracle. 

Wine Country Style

One of the things I enjoy about visiting Wine Country is its style. I love the organic produce, beautiful architecture, luxury cars and of course all that delicious wine.

Since buying a limo or a château is outside my budget, I thought of some more affordable ways to bring home that Wine Country style.

Here they are.

Enjoy!

Daylight Savings

Daylight Savings happened in California last Sunday--we fell back one hour and finally joined the rest of the world. But Jackson is not a fan of this early morning sunshine.

I hope he gets used to it before March when we change back!

Halloween Throwback

"Happy Halloween, Harold!" I said carrying bags of candy from my car.
"Is that today?" my 86 year-old neighbor said taking down his flag.
"What candy are you handing out?"
"None. I won't be home."
"You're going to a party?"
"No, I'll be home."
"But--"
"I hate Halloween."

Since moving to this suburban neighborhood in Southern California, I'd seen and heard a lot of unusual things but I could honestly say this was the first time I'd ever heard any human being say that they didn't like Halloween. How? Why? When I  was a kid I distinctly remembered one house on the block that handed out huge Hershey bars. Throughout the year I had no contact with that house or its residents but on Halloween, the lady of the house kindly asked what I was dressed as for Halloween.

"A pum'kin."
"And what a fine pumpkin you are," she said smiling and dropped the biggest chocolate bar I'd ever received into my bag.  Suddenly that house became the "chocolate bar house" and every year I went back to get another huge chocolate bar and share some nice words with the lady. That house, that lady, those chocolate bars made me love the 31st of October. Halloween was a holiday of costumes, practical jokes and free candy. How could anyone not like it?

"Harold, what's not to like about Halloween?"
"I hate the costumes, the practical jokes and handing out free candy," Harold said. Ahhh, just when I thought I knew my neighbor, he went off and surprised me. "The kids know to avoid our house."
"You can't avoid Halloween."
"Yes, I can," he said rolling up his flag and pulling down the blinds inside his house.

Harold may be a Halloween bah-humbug but his wasn't the only house on the block.

I saw Jerry sweeping his front steps.
"Getting ready for Halloween, Jerry?" I hollered.
"We've already had several groups of trick or treaters," he said adjusting his San Francisco baseball cap.
"It's still light out."
"The kids know we've got candy for them."

Which is how it should be on the 31st of October.

Inside The House I opened a bottle of wine and poured the candy I'd bought into a bowl. The candy bars stuck out of the bowl because I'd bought the biggest chocolate bars I could find in honor of the lady I knew from the Halloweens of my youth. I can't wait to ask kids what they're dressed as and give them free candy. For me, Halloween is about paying it back.

Happy Halloween!

Pumpkins!

"I got the pumpkins," I said lugging two orange gourds to the table.
"Okay," Mr Wonderful said looking up from his book.
"We're going to a carving party."
"Okay?"
"It's going to be fun!"
Silence.

As a kid, the best things about Halloween are dressing up and eating free candy. As an adult, the best things are: 1) Dressing up; 2) Eating free candy; and 3) Carving pumpkins!

Unfortunately, I was the only one in The House that thought so, which wasn't saying much since the only other person in the household was Mr. Wonderful.

"Remind me why people carve pumpkins," he said looking at the gourds as if they were foul-smelling skunks.
"It's tradition."
"Which doesn't make it right."
"Traditions are good."
"What about dressing in blackface?"

He did have a point. Some things that happened in the past should be left in the past. And people today should be smart enough to know what offensive things from the past should be forgotten and what good things from the past should be kept. Here's my short list: pumpkin carving should be remembered and celebrated.

Never having carved a pumpkin, Mr. Wonderful was not convinced. However through the power of promises of wine and free candy, I lured him to the carving party.

Our hostess provided homemade chili, carving tools and even patterns. She really outdid herself! While sipping wine and munching on candy, chips and salsa and that tasty chili, we hobnobbed with the other guests and learned that I had the most experience carving pumpkins. The reason was that my father had encouraged me to be good with a knife. Apparently he hoped I'd grow up to be a doctor, a surgeon or a ninja. Although I didn't choose a medical career, becoming a ninja is still a possibility.

Since I'd carved so many pumpkins in my day, I could carve the pumpkin of every person present in 6.6 seconds and bake the pumpkin seeds. I drew an outline on my orange globe and went to town on the carving. Meanwhile Mr. Wonderful cautiously picked up a pen and began to outline his pumpkin's face. While I cut delicate eyelashes into my pretty pumpkin's visage, he charged ahead carving his gourd with bold, Zorro-like strokes.

SWISH, SWISH, SWASH. I watched his face as he worked and it was covered in a broad smile.

"Let's see," I said before he spun his pumpkin toward us.
"Ooh!"
"Ahh!" Its fierce eyes, its toothy grin, everyone loved his carved pumpkin. In fact, his first try at carving was better than all the pumpkins I'd carved in my entire life--combined.  He was a natural with a knife.

As we left the party carrying our carved pumpkins I asked my spouse what he'd thought of the evening.
"It was fun," he said.
"Because it's a tradition worth keeping or you're actually a ninja in disguise?" He showed me the long blade of his knife and smiled.

My father would have been proud of him.

It's Over

I tried to make it work.

I failed.

It's finito.

Southern California is world famous for growing oranges, lemons and the budgets of blockbuster Hollywood movies but this summer it failed in the tomato department. I know what you're thinking: "Are my tax dollars paying for the Tomato Department," let me assure you that they most definitely are not. And even if they were--which they most assuredly are not--it would not have helped the pathetic red fruits in my backyard's garden patch. In fact, the entire bajillion-dollar budget of the federal government could not have helped any of my tomatoes. And that was before the government shut down.

This year was the worst six months of tomato growing on record--that is, on my record. There are some years that produce superior quality products, like: 1) Chevrolet's 1955 Bel Air; 2) Bordeaux's 1982 grapes; 3) Last year's tomatoes. But this year was horrible for tomatoes, or as the experts call it, "An icky, stinker year".

My summer tomatoes were small in size and smaller in number. For months, going out to the veggie patch to pick sun-ripened tomatoes was depressing. So I'd made a decision: I would rip out the tomatoes and not replant them or any other veggie or fruit. I was done with fruits and veggies. In the future, I would just plant perennials and natives. I cleared the garden bed in 6.1 seconds dumping the dead tomato plants in the greens bin. Jackson, my trusty helping cat, sat near me looking on with disinterest.

Staring at the empty garden bed the mystery of why the tomato plants failed fired my mind. Much like how a murder mystery would tickle the brain of the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. A thought came to me. Perhaps the cause for the paltry pasta-sauce making produce was due to global warming? Yes, Watson! The planet's warmer temperatures had caused 1) Fires in Colorado; 2) The Super Storms of Sandy; and 3) Iceland's entire population to have golden, full-body tans. So perhaps global warming had prohibited tomato growth in my backyard? It was elementary! Although… tomatoes do love the sun, which is why they grow so well in SoCal, Italy and at the beach.

"Global warming was not to blame for my lack of tomatoes," I told my trusty helper. Jackson licked his paw.

Perhaps it was the lack of bees? Bees are pollinators who play a crucial role in fertilizing plants to produce the fruit, which ripens to feed every pasta lover on the planet. However an epidemic was sweeping farm country--and my backyard--where whole bee colonies were dying. Ah-ha, Watson! Fewer bees translated to fewer tomatoes. It was so elementary! However after significant research, it seemed that the bees have been dying off because of pesticide use. I didn't use any pesticides in my backyard, which meant:

"The lack of bees did not cause my lack of tomatoes," I announced to my trusty sidekick. Jackson rolled in the sun.

What other reason could explain the slim pickings in my tomato patch this summer?

"TCH, TCH!" A sharp sound echoed across the yard. I looked to the fence and there, perched on it like he owned the place was my ultimate nemesis: The Squirrel. And he looked very plump. Of course, Watson! That sneaky, no good rodent was the cause of my puny tomato pickings. His thicker body and serious weight gain was all thanks to the tomatoes he'd stolen and eaten since May! It's very elementary! I knew just what to do!

"Attack, Jackson!" I said willing my lazy kitty to action. But he didn't need my encouragement, he'd heard The Squirrel and was staring right at the portly rodent.

"TCH, TCH!" The Squirrel flicked its bushy tail, which only spurned Jackson on. Jackson bent his legs then slunk across the yard to the fence where our supreme nemesis perched. Jackson leaped into the rosemary bed. I saw the panic in The Squirrel's beady eyes. Jackson extended his forelegs up the fence with an audible "Ping, Ping, PING!" as his claws sprung out like Samurai swords. His sharp claws were just two feet from The Squirrel. As the rodent's eyes popped out of its head, he turned and scampered into the neighbor's tree far away from my trusty, clawed assistant. And what a trusty assistant! He was my Watson and I was his Holmes. He would keep The Squirrel at bay!

This year is over and it will go down as the worst year for tomatoes. But this fall I'm planting again: spinach, lettuce, broccoli, kale, onions, and chives to be ready for tomato planting next summer.

It's beginning.

The Accident

"A driver just hit my car," I said into the phone, my arm shaking.

"Tell me about your accident," the insurance agent said flatly as if she were asking for directions.

"It's not 'my' accident."

"Whose is it then?"

"She hit me."

"But it happened to you."

Here's what I know about car accidents: 1) Every accident is unique; 2) Every accident costs money; and 3) Every accident is a pain in the rear-end, posterior, derriere, seat and tuchis. And if you get rear-ended like I did, you can add "pain in the neck" to the list of ailments. Here are some new things I've learned about accidents: 1) Whip lash is no fun; 2) Talking to insurance companies, mechanics and doctors takes time; and 3) Women drivers. There, I said it.

The accident happened when I was stopped at a traffic light. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a white car approaching from behind. The white car didn't stop. Boom! It hit me. The other driver said she'd pay for the damages out of pocket. I believed her. Stupid me.

I went to the doctor for the pain in my neck. I took my car to body shops. I got estimates for the repairs. I called the woman who hit me and gave her the estimates because she said she'd pay. She refused to pay. Stupid me.

Luckily I'd called my insurance company who were great and handled things. I felt less stupid.

At work I told two female friends about the accident and the woman driver who refused to pay.

"Accidents are the worst," Monica said shaking her head. "When I hit that guy two years ago he was a jerk about it."

"You hit him?" 

"Yeah, he was foreign and cursed me out in Italian."

"Accidents bite the big one," Susan nodded. "Last year I backed into a guy in the parking garage."

"You hit him?"

"Yeah, and he went ballistic."

"Mercedes ballistic or BMW ballistic?"

"Porsche ballistic."

I didn't press my friends any further on their accidents because they did the right thing. They caused the accident and they paid for it.

Causing an accident is like being pregnant: you either are or you aren't. There's no middle ground. So it doesn't matter if you hit a Jaguar, a Ford or a dune buggy, if you caused an accident, you need to pay for it. 

So women--and men--drivers, when you're behind the wheel, do everyone a favor and don't text or talk on the phone. Just focus on driving. I bet then there would be fewer accidents on the road. 

And if not, I'll just curse in Italian.

Wine and Halloween!

If wine isn't part of your Halloween, then you need to make some new traditions! And if you need some suggestions, I have some here for wine and Halloween traditions!

Enjoy!

Waiting for Godot

"Where is he?" the plumber hollered at the fence.

"Not here," I said letting Michael into the backyard.

"I bet he won't come."

"We'll find out soon enough."

"Nothing to be done."

"Except… wait."

Ahhh, Waiting. It's an exercise in patience whether you're waiting for a pot to boil, a pay raise to happen or Santa Claus to bring you Barbie's Malibu Beach House, the Exclusive Pinktastic version.  But all that pales in comparison to waiting for the City Inspector to approve the work on your house.

It took several months of back-breaking work but after digging a trench, hiring plumbers and electricians to do the work, the day had now arrived when we'd learn if everything had been done correctly. I thought Michael's plumbing work was professional and Jeffrey's electrical work was stellar, but my opinions didn't matter if the City Inspector didn't think so. In home improvement the City Inspector is the judge, jury and king. And it's very good to be king.

Hoping to impress the Inspector, our plumber arrived first thing in the morning wearing a clean t-shirt and jeans to answer any questions the City Inspector might have about Michael's work. Only the plumber--not the electrician--was required to be present for the inspection. When I asked why this was Michael said there was a pecking order in home improvement inspections: The Inspector is the Emperor, the Electrician is the Empress and the Plumber is the Court Jester.

"That means you're funny," I said before Michael gave me a dirty look and retreated to his car to make phone calls, proving that Court Jesters don't necessarily have a sense of humor. After waiting three hours in his air-conditioned but still hot car, Michael marched up to The House.

"He's not coming."
"He'll be here."
"I'm tired of waiting. I'm leaving."
"No!" I said thinking fast. "Can I get you something?"
"You have a phone charger?" Michael had made so many calls that his phone was dead. I handed him a battery charger and he stomped off to his car. Two hours later he reappeared.

"He's not coming."
"He'll be here."
"I'm leaving."
"No! Uh, how about a drink?" I said filling a glass with ice water and handing it to him.
"I'm not thirsty" Michael sniffed. He'd been sitting in his car for five hours and it was 102 degrees Fahrenheit in my kitchen freezer, of course he was thirsty. And hard-headed and the antithesis of Court Jester funny.
"Drink it," I pushed the glass at him. Michael accepted the beverage and gulped its contents in 2.6 seconds. I refilled his glass then watched as he proceeded to drink enough water to fill Hoover Dam. Twice. But still, the Inspector did not come.

"Where is he?" Michael stamped his foot then retreated to his car to listen to music.

An hour later Michael pounded on the door.

"He's not coming."
"He'll be here."
"I'm leaving now."
"No! Uh, how about lunch?"
"I'm not hungry," Michael growled. He'd been at our house for six hours waiting for the City Inspector, of course he was hungry. And stubborn and the dictionary definition of "not funny".
"I'll make smoothies," I said pouring fresh strawberries, yoghurt and juice into the blender. I whirred its contents at the exact moment Michael was shaking his head and protesting. I popped a straw into the glass and handed it to him. "Drink it."
He sipped some then stopped.
"This is good."
"I used Greek yoghurt."
"You went to Greece to buy this?" Michael asked with a slight upward tilt to his mouth.
"Specifically, Athens. There's a joint next to the Parthenon that sells yoghurt two for one."
"Ha-ha!" Michael said sporting a full smile. Maybe the Court Jester did have a funny bone after all?

In the shady backyard we sat at the table and cracked jokes. We devoured our smoothies and the refills. Michael said my avocado tree looked lame because good avocados can't be grown in Los Angeles. I protested. He said Mexico had the world's best avocados. For the honor of our countries' produce, I challenged him to an arm wrestling match. We were laughing, our forearms locked in battle, when a voice over us sounded:

"I don't want to interrupt you and your friend but I'm the Inspector." The 50-something man said peering down at us.
"We've been waiting for you all day!" Michael and I said in unison.

The City Inspector came! He approved all the work! The Court Jester was free to go!

"And I was having so much fun," Michael said kicking the dirt with his shoe. "So, I guess this is... good-bye." He lingered at the gate, reluctant to go. I thought about future jobs in The House.
"Do you do bathroom repairs?"
"All the time."
"I'll call you."
"You better," Michael said leaving with a smile.

Sometimes the waiting is the worst part, and sometimes, it's the part that makes everything worthwhile.

"Wine Changed My Life"

Wine smells good, tastes good and can change your life.

If you don't believe me about the changing-your-life part, check out this story about wine changing a guy's life.

Cheers!

The Electrical Princess

"The plumber's work is done," I said buttering my toast. 

"Yes," Mr. Wonderful said reaching for the ringing telephone. 

"And tomorrow the electrician comes to do his work."

"Yes?" he said into the phone.

"So by Monday night everything will be done!" 

"No," Mr Wonderful said handing me the phone.

The phone call brought bad news. But phone calls with good news never happen first thing in the morning unless you're 1) The grandmother-to-be of a new born baby (which I wasn't); 2) The winner of the Nobel Peace Prize (which I wasn't) or 3) Meryl Streep (which I wasn't... yet). 

The voice on the other end of the line belonged to the electrician who informed me he was canceling. Canceling the day before a scheduled work day! UGH.

"Why," I said choking on my toast. 

"My third-grade daughter is playing a princess in the school play tomorrow."

"But why," I said brushing crumbs from my face. 

"She's loves princesses?" the electrician said questioning his own excuse.

"But why now?"

"She had a great audition?"

His daughter's school play? What kind of excuse was that? Please. It wasn't like she'd never be in another school play again. These days kids have school plays every week in third grade. But the electrician didn't care that he was leaving me in the trench-laden lurch while he skipped off to the elementary school's cafeteria to see his princess play a princess. I wished he hadn't told me why he had to cancel. UGH.

So it was back to the drawing board for me in finding an electrician. Whoever said Sunday was a day of rest did not have to deal with finding an electrician. I searched Angie's list, the neighbors' lists and all the lists of my 6,000 Facebook friends. I dialed, emailed, texted, tweeted, Pinterested and Instagramed for an electrician. Finally, lo and behold, I found one!

Jeffrey came, saw the situation, gave me an estimate and left. On Tuesday, Jeffrey's men came, saw the work and left… to get more parts. Soon both electricians returned to the house and while the young one worked on the wiring, the older one left… to get more parts. Again.

I chatted with the young one who was so amiable and pleasant. When the older one came back to work on the job I chatted to him and he was even more amiable and more pleasant then… he left to get more parts. The older one spent more time "going to get more parts" than there were parts required to do all the work on our house. Into perpetuity.

The whole day was an endless stream of electricians coming and going. But by the close of business on Monday, the electrical work was done, it was professional and it looked stellar. I thanked both men profusely. They smiled and nodded.

That evening I called Jeffrey.

"Your men did a fabulous job on my House. Thank you," I said smiling into the phone.

"On your job," Jeffrey said "I miscalculated the parts, the labor and the work. It was the job from hell. Serious hell."  UGH. I wished he hadn't told me how hard the job was. My House is my joy. No one wants to think that the thing they love dearly--their House--is anything less than perfect. Suddenly I understood how the first electrician felt about his third-grade daughter performing in the school play. Whatever or whomever we love is our princess and others should respect our loved ones.

I called the first electrician and asked how his daughter did in the play.

"She was the perfect princess," he said beaming.

"Of course she was," I said. "Because she's yours."

Being the Bad Guy

"The plumber's back," Mr Wonderful said peering out the window and setting down his coffee cup.

"Good," I said emptying my tea cup.

"I'll be the bad guy."

"I'll be the bad guy."

"I said it first."

"I'm more diplomatic!" I said elbowing past Mr. Wonderful.

The hardest thing for DIY fixer uppers like Mr. Wonderful and I was letting someone else do the work on The House while we sat idly by. The short--and long--reason was: We didn't trust anyone to do the work as well as we knew we could. But the plumbing and electrical projects we needed had to be done by licensed, bonded professionals. So after we dug a formidable trench, we contracted a plumber who came, installed pipes and left. The only problem was said plumber did the work while leaving said pipes sticking out of our house like the bolts poking out of Frankenstein's neck. The short--and long--of it was: It wasn't pretty. So now Mr. Wonderful and I were debating who would to talk to the plumber about this Franken-house problem.

"Morning, Michael," I said waving to the plumber.

"Hi--" Michael said smiling.

"My wife wants to talk to you," Mr Wonderful said deferring to me. Ahhh, I married a wise man.

"What a beautiful morning," Michael said flashing his pearly whites. Note to self: everyone in L.A. has gorgeous teeth, including the plumbers.

"That's right, I want to talk to you," I said leaping between my spouse and the plumber.

"Your house is so beautiful," Michael said looking around. "When I was here yesterday I spent all day in the trench and attic that I didn't get to experience how nice it is here. It's really nice."

My anger faded. My heart melted. The plumber liked my House? I loved this plumber!

"Thank you," I said blushing as if he'd complimented me on my hair, eyes or stellar sense of humor. "You did excellent work," I added. Behind me I heard Mr. Wonderful roll his eyes. Without a doubt, he is the loudest roller of eyes I've ever known. 

"Okay, I'll be going then," Michael said turning on his heel and heading back to his truck.

"Wait," Mr Wonderful said in a slow, deep voice. My spouse's vocal chords were well suited for a radio announcer, a story-book reader or a hard-baller giving someone a big-time reprimand. Now I thought--now!--Michael's going to hear how unhappy we are with his work, see how it looked like a Frankenstein plumbing job, and know that it had to be redone like, yesterday. 

Unfortunately Michael was either a rebel or terribly hard of hearing because he kept walking. He walked away from Mr. Wonderful, away from me and toward the back gate which would give him total freedom from our wrath. Once he passed through that gate, we'd never get him back to fix this horrible pipe job. 

When suddenly, a miracle happened.

"Meow," Jackson said rubbing up against the offending pipes sticking out of the house wall. "Meow."

"Hello, pussy cat," Michael said bending down to pet our tuxedo feline. Jackson plopped down on his belly right in the plumber's path causing the workman to freeze. He looked at the pipes, coughed then said, "Why didn't you tell me I did a bad job right here?" 

"Ahhh. Well?" Mr. Wonderful and I said in unison and shrugged. Michael tsk-tsked us.

The short--and long--story is: Michael removed the pipes from sticking out of the facade of our House and relaid them so they were hidden and flush with the wall, just like we wanted. And they looked great.

Ahhh, Jackson. He had freed Mr. Wonderful and me from being the bad guy. Next time we need a hard-hitting complainer to talk to the contractors, we're going to the ultimate baddie: Jackson our tuxedo-wearing cat.