by Christine | Life, Observations
For several years in a row, our summer vacation involved camping up at Mammoth Lakes. Ten days of living in a pop-up trailer with the boys in a tent. Ten days of cooking outside, watching for bears, wading in the creek, reading, hiking, playing poker and sitting around the campfire.
But the last two years, our schedules have precluded the long camp vacation. I’m feeling nostalgic, so here are some of my favorite memories.
Our camp kitchen, and the back end of the pop-up trailer.
I miss it.
Activities include creek sculpture – hit and run art, so to speak, lol!
Wading in the creek was a great way to cool down from a hike. Then again, the hammocks were also a great way to cool down – to read, or sneak a nap.
Pre-nap, post reading, camera at the ready.
We had three hammocks, strategically placed around the campsite. Marvelous! But one of the best parts of camping was wandering along the creek, and finding pockets of enchantment, like this one.
The Creek
I can’t show you the part that I love about camping, which is all the stars at night. So here’s a picture of the campfire, and how we spent hours. I am the acknowledged Fire Maven, and fiddling with the fire is my specialty.
Tim’s reading, Tom’s playing guitar, Chet’s off camera also reading, and I’m taking photos. All’s well.
Here’s the interior of the pop-up. Tim’s reading again, naturally. I think this summer we were into the Robert Jordan series of books.
The pop-up was great when the kids were small, but once they got bigger than me, we kicked them out to the tent to sleep.
But the best part of camping? I didn’t care how I looked. As long as I was cool enough/warm enough, I was all shades of happy.
Christine, in the wild. August 2011.
Quick weekend retreats to the boat in San Diego are totally awesome and they do the job of recharging my spirit, but oh, I do miss the mountains.
What’s your favorite vacation spot that you’ve been to? Where would you like to go but haven’t been yet?
~oOo~
Until the next time, cheers!
by Christine | Life, Observations
This time, we left on Friday afternoon. After way too much traffic, we finally pulled in, got the key to the boat, and headed straight to Filippi’s. Here’s a photo of the cool wine glasses…
The glasses hold roughly 4 ounces.
After pizza and salad and wine, we headed to the boat and collapsed. No, we hung out on deck for a bit, and THEN collapsed, lol.
Where we collapsed. No, we didn’t leave it wide open all night.
The next morning, the hubs had work to do on the boat and I went to see my dad. We had a lovely time, sitting and talking and picking lemons and tomatoes and just in general enjoying each other’s company. He’s feeling MUCH better – had a lung x-ray on Friday to make sure the pneumonia is all gone. We talked, laughed, had lunch together, and I fixed his signature lines on his email. Then he seemed tired, so I went to Starcrafts to spend time with Teresa and her sis, Donna. Spent a couple hours there (and had to buy stuff, seriously that shop is FUN) and had some time with Teresa that kind of blew my mind. She’s a spirit medium, you see, and – well, I’ll keep it to myself. But if you ever need to see a spirit medium, I highly recommend her.
So, I finally get back to the boat, change clothes and head up top with a small glass of wine. I hear such a ruckus that Tom passes me my camera, and I spend the next – gee, almost an hour – taking photos. Here’s why…
This guy was cleaning fish. Then tossing the offal into the water.
The guys on this boat caught 13 yellowtail. BIG fish.
The seagulls caught on…
Seagulls fighting over a slab of mostly yellowtail tuna skin with a bit of flesh on it.
And then another player came into the game.
The seal takes charge.
The seal would grab the slab of fish and dive with it. The birds would mill around for a bit, and without warning the seal would come up and fling it a good ten feet away – the birds would swarm, grab it, tear it, and the seal would come up from underneath them and scare them away – which enabled him to bring it up and fling it again. Was he playing with the seagulls? It certainly looked that way!
Until a no-nonsense bird landed, and decided to take over at the source.
The boss flew in to make sure he was doing it right.
Needless to say, this bird got his food.
Taking it from the seal…
Then it became a free-for-all, with the birds and the seal playing catch (or was that hide n’ seek?) – fun stuff!
Playing hide n’ seek…
But the seal tended to win…
The seal won this round…until he flung this piece of fish to the birds.
…unless the pelican did.
Pelican for the win! The seal did NOT get this piece of fish back.
So I basked in the frolicking of nature (with a helping hand from man, flinging yellowtail into the water) and took over 400 photos. I was also lucky enough to get splashed by the seal! Or maybe it was another seal…there were two there, by the end of the evening. My guess is the seal had hidden some fish bits down toward the bottom, where the seabirds would not go.
All in all, it was a wonderful ending to an amazingly emotional day. Here’s another cool photo…
Dinosaur? Or…
Tom and I ate, and drank wine, and at the end of our day, we were greeted with this lovely creature. Luckily we had the camera with us, which is NOT normal…
The Great Blue Heron. They like to haunt the piers around Shelter Cove Marina – there are four or five of them who are there before full sunrise, and always after sunset.
So even though the drive back took us almost as long as the drive there, I feel refreshed. I needed this break, and thanks to our lovely friend and my lovely husband, I got it.
May you take a break in your daily routine when you really need it. And maybe when you don’t. Sending love and hugs out to the Universe! What an amazing planet we live on!
~oOo~
by Christine | Life, Publishing, Writing
In late June, Dad went off to the Western Writers of America Conference in Las Vegas with pneumonia, 9 books to pitch, and chock-full of determination. When I left him the Sunday prior to his trip, he looked tired and thin, and I worried.
Chet Cunningham, June 2011
So it was with some hesitation that I called him (after giving him time to recover from the trip) to see how the conference went.
The phone rings. Gooood evening, he says, sounding sprightly. Hey Daddy. How are you? I say. He sounds good. No, he sounds wonderful. I start to smile into the phone.
Heey, Chrissy, he says. I’m doing grrreat. Let me tell you about the conference. And he was off and running. He sounded great, better than he has in a very long time.
So, he says, my first day there, I ran into the gal that has been publishing all my big print books. Who’s that, I say. Oh, you know, he says, the big print folks. Oh shoot. Five Star. They’re a part of Five Star Publishing.
I had sent her a couple new books, he says, a few months back and hadn’t heard from her, but she said they might be on a bookcase somewhere, and to re-send. We got to talking and she told me they buy Frontier Fiction, and mysteries. I told her what I have, and she said to send them to her. That’s six books, right there, that they might like.
The closet where dad stores copies of his books. Yes, those are all his. Not all of them are digital – yet.
That’s great, daddy, I say. Your first day. Yep, he says, my first day. So I’ve been working on those, getting them ready to send to her.
And then I saw Kat Martin, he says. You know Kat, I’ve got some photos with her and your mother from previous conferences. Yes, I say. I remember Kat Martin. (She’s only written a ton of romances, lol.)
Well, he says, I was talking to her husband, Larry Jay Martin, also a long-time friend of mine. He’s a western writer, and he’s putting his up stuff on Amazon. We were talking and he asked if I had anything that hadn’t gone digital yet, and if I did to send it to him.
What did you end up sending? I ask. He laughs. Says, well, what I thought I would send him, I no longer have any computer files for. So I emailed him on Sunday night when I got home, said I didn’t have what I thought I had, but I have these other three that are digital, he says.
By now, I’m so excited for him I can barely stand it. What did he say? I ask. Well, he says, Monday morning I got an email back from him with a three book contract. And all I have to do is send him the digital files. So I did, and a day later I got a look at three possible covers for the books. I could get used to this, he says.
The jubilation in his voice was music to my ears.
Not only that, he says, but I ran into Dusty Richards, hadn’t seen him in a long time. Oh, and I talked to Cherry, he says. She is passing on my Jesse James novel, but is willing to shop around a partial of mine. Then I met another agent who also said he was intrigued by this partial idea, and he’d be happy to shop it as well.
Two agents shopping the same book? I ask. Oh no, he says. I’m sticking with Cherry, and if she doesn’t think she can do anything with it, then I’ll talk to this other guy.
It sounds like you had a wonderful time, I say. My cheeks are hurting because I’m smiling so big. And you sound healthy.
I’m doing pretty good, he says. I’m enthused, and working hard, and I made a lot of contacts at the conference so I’m really glad I went. Gotta go get back at it. You still working on that book?
Yes Daddy, still working, I say. After mutual assurances of love and missing the other, we hang up.
I wipe away a few happy tears. As much as I wanted him to stay home and recuperate, obviously going to a conference with pneumonia was the exact right thing for him. The energy and joy in his voice comes back to me, makes me smile.
I’m really glad I went, he said.
So am I, Daddy. So am I.
~oOo~
by Christine | Life, Observations
We did our tour of the yard, as we always do. It’s the first thing he says to me usually, after our hello hugs. “Let’s take a garden tour!” And we do. I picked lemons, because that lemon tree has the finest lemons on it anywhere. Meyer lemons, of course. The tree is only a few years younger than I am.
Dad likes to sit in this chair in his garden. But when I asked him to, he wouldn’t, lol. Tomatoes on the far left and far right. Pole beans and sunflowers behind them.
We usually take our time, go from one corner of the small yard to the other, talking about what was growing, what he’d gotten rid of, what he wished he’d planted.
But this time he wears out fast. Pneumonia, he says. On meds. I’m fine, he says. I eye him. He’s thinner than the last time I saw him. Worn. So we retreat to the cool of the house and sit on the couch he and my mother had picked out years ago now. I’ve never liked that couch but I suppose it will live on long after I am gone. Some pieces of furniture are like that.
We sit there, holding hands. The skin on the back of his hand is so soft, loose. His fingers are gnarled by arthritis, and yet he still manages to type on a keyboard. We talk. He mentions a short story he wrote, a companion piece to the one he wrote about his dad, my grandpa. Grandpa sold off the family farm and equipment and livestock for pennies, so he could take his family out of Nebraska, escape the dust bowl of the late 1930s. That was dad’s original short story, about the sale. The new short story is about the journey to Oregon.
You remember it, don’t you? Living on the farm in Nebraska? I stroke his hand. So soft.
Not really, he answers. Just bizarre things, like Dad pouring kerosene down a cow’s throat because she was bloated. The kerosene helped the cow vomit up the bloat. Oh, and one time the neighbors gathered to castrate some of the piglets. Lots of screaming that day. Piglets are noisy.
And Mom, he says. When the time came to thresh the wheat, all the farm families would pitch in and hire the thresher, and everyone would go to a farm and get ‘er done. When our turn came, Mom would be cooking all day and she’d lay out a lunch on a huge table outside under the trees. Chickens and ham and steak, beans and whatever we’d grown in the house garden. Everyone would sit around and eat. Then the next day, they’d go to another farm and thresh their wheat.
But I didn’t do too much, he said. I was too little.
And then he pulls out of the past. I’m going to the Western Writers Association conference on Tuesday, he says. In Las Vegas. Jo will go with me, make sure I’m taking my pills.
I frown at him, but I know he won’t back down.
Chet Cunningham’s office.
I’ve got nine projects to pitch, he says. Twelve or thirteen on the shelf that no one wants. But nine to pitch. I’ll sign up for as many pitch appointments as I can, he says.
Conferences can be really tiring, I say. Make sure you rest.
Oh, I’m on a panel, he says. But I won’t go to many workshops. Want to talk to people mostly.
We fall into a comfortable silence, our hands still holding on. I remember the last time I saw my mother, the day I put my head in her lap and cried because she looked so confused about life. A week later, she had died from an infection that got into her bloodstream.
Dad has pneumonia, and he’s going to a writer’s conference. It is so like him. I hold his hand gently, and engrave this memory, this time, this conversation with him, deep into my heart.
by Christine | Cooking, Life
Who could resist making a cake with the name Chocolate Peanut Butter Fun Cake? Not I! It was Saturday, and I was hauling trash out of going through the magazines in my office, and I stumbled upon a Bon Apetit magazine from the 1950’s March of 2012. So I leafed through it, ripping out recipes that looked good, and I stumbled upon the aforementioned cake.
The photo in Bon Apetit that totally captivated me.
What got me, though, was the writing above the OH so yummy photo – “This vegan batter is generously versatile: The pastry chef uses it for wedding cakes and cupcakes, too. Funnily enough, its recipe is similar to one from the 1930s for something called a Depression cake.” ~ Nathanial Meads
Vegan. Cheap to make. I was SO in. Plus, chocolate. Hello! (As well, Father’s Day loomed the following day!) So I made the ridiculously easy batter with ingredients I always have on hand (all purpose flour, sugar, natural unsweetened cocoa powder, kosher salt, baking soda, vegetable oil, vanilla, chopped bittersweet chocolate) and made the cake.
Let me tell you, licking the spoon after the cake was in the oven was – well, heaven. Rich chocolate with bits of kosher salt? SWOON-worthy!
Peanut Butter Fun Cake, made by Moi from the recipe in Bon Apetit, March 2012. Okay, so the chocolate isn’t shaved…it still looks yummy, right?
The hardest bit to do was the peanut butter buttercream for the topping. It was involved (double boiler, anyone?) and used egg whites, so there went the vegan thing. But the oldest son LOVED licking the bowl clean after I frosted the cake.
My reaction to the cake? The cake itself was dense, chewy, lovely and rich with that hint of salt that made everything FANTASTIC. The icing was a bit much – rich and peanutty and overwhelming. But I was the only one who felt that way – the others were too busy scarfing it down. My oldest son has already decided I should make this cake for his every birthday. My husband said let’s not restrict it to birthdays, so my middle son pencilled in September (birthday month) and January (New Year’s) for the cake.
This is the very first time anything I’ve made has been scheduled for a remake, so far in advance. I guess they liked it!
What about you? Do you have any recipes that the family clamors for? Please share if you can! Oh, and if you want the recipe for the cake, go here to Bon Apetit. Enjoy – er –
bon apetit!
~ Until the next time, cheers! ~
~oOo~
by Christine | Life, Observations
If you want to catch up, the beginning of this adventure starts with Part One – The Train.
So, I arrived at the Santa Fe Station in San Diego, thrilled with my journey on the train. Now I had my backpack on my back, and basic directions on how to get to where I’d be meeting the hubby. Luckily it was in a restaurant in Little Italy – and there would be wine at the end of my journey.
With the help of a tourist map of the area, I figured out which way to go after leaving the station, hefted my backpack and began the walk. Up “B” St to India St, turn left, then up India until I got there. There? My destination – the Spaghetteria. (And yes -it’s as awkward to say as it looks.)
As I walked, I passed closed storefronts and open art galleries. The farther up hill I went, the busier the area got – and soon I was in the heart of Little Italy. Aging Italian men were smoking cigars and gathered together outside; little clumps of them, up and down the street. Kids dodged in and out of groups of adults.
Louche teenaged girls straggled behind their parents, giggling and talking. The scent of pizza and pasta and garlic mingled with the fragrant cigars and a surprising amount of twenty-somethings smoking cigarettes. Lots of people were out and about, and since the time was past 8:30pm, the restaurants were packed. Laughter and music and fun – the street was hopping, and I loved it.
Unfortunately I had miles, a long way – sigh…a few blocks that were all up hill to get to my destination. I walked wistfully past the Italian restaurant that The Accomplice (the Without Walls theater production that my hubby Tom Ashworth was doing through the La Jolla Playhouse) had been in, the wonderful Trattoria Fantastica (desserts to DIE for); past Filippi’s Pizza Grotto (more about Filippi’s later); across the street and up two more streets where the nightlife wasn’t anywhere near as vibrant, before I got to the Spaghetteria.
I was surprised. The restaurant was HUGE – but the street, up here, was almost empty. The restaurant, too, held maybe eight people and could easily have seated 200. Maybe 250. Whatever, I made it. Found the hubby, got a wonderful hug and kiss, then he escorted me to the bar. They had two more shows to do that night before we were free to go to dinner.
I ordered a glass of wine. Two groups came in, I sipped, they figured out the end of the puzzle, and “I fought the law and the law won” came on for the last time that night. They were done. The hubs and I hightailed it out of there (as it had a chilly atmosphere and a waitstaff that looked like they’d rather be anywhere but there) and went to Filippi’s.
Best Damn Pizza Ever.
Now, Filippi’s is not your typical restaurant. You walk in through a market – a wonderful Italian market. It’s also a bit on the old fashioned side of things, and they make no apology for it. No WiFi, no outdoor seating (which means no cigar or cigarette smoking), no TV sets. (Sounds like heaven to me!) You can’t make reservations, so you walk in and you wait. Often, the line is out the door. Luckily as we go in, we’re the second ones in line. Totally doable. (Before we’re seated, there are 30 people lined up behind us – and it’s almost 9:30pm.)
This is the first place Tom took me for dinner, back when we were first dating. His fondest memory is ordering a bottle of wine – and the waiter brought two glasses, even though I was quite obviously under age. (17 – yep!) So this was a lovely, nostalgic, romantic dinner for us.
We had pizza, a carafe of house wine, the antipasto salad (which had a marvelous, tangy-sharp cheese in it – we found out later that it was an aged provolone? Tom bought some and we’ve been enjoying it ever since), and a boatload of wonderful memories that had us laughing and talking and enjoying each other. And the pizza, let it be said, was fantastic.
Thanks to theredvelvetcouch.blogspot.com for use of the photo.
I mean, seriously. Doesn’t that look fantastic? It was the perfect meal for the end of a long, fascinating day. Tom and I finally closed the place down and headed for our home away from home for the weekend – The Boat.
Since I lost my small camera, I don’t have some photos that I wish I did. But here’s a photo of the marina at night.
The view from the boat, Shelter Island Marina.
Sleepy and happy to be together, it was great to be back at the marina. The air had that soft quality that it gets when the temperature is just right, the next day promised to be foggy, and all was well in my world.
Thanks so much for stopping by. When was the last time you went on an adventure, either by yourself or with a friend? Let’s talk!
~ Until the next time, cheers! ~
~oOo~
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