Antigone, Come Here Now!

In San Francisco this could be referring to several things:

1. harried parent calling to 3-year-old in Alta Plaza playground
2. a radical new performance of the tragedy Antigone staged at ACT
3. Greek restaurateur calling to his niece to leave the kitchen and wait tables
4. dog walker calling to an errant canine client in the Presidio

The one that inspired this little multiple-choice questionnaire is ... #4. Now who could've resisted using that in a blog??


Good rainy Xmas Day here. For Xmas Eve we decided to have a picnic supper with deli sandwiches, cole slaw, prosecco, wine, and egg nog. And watch "Risky Business", which, surprisingly, has stood the test of time and is quite a fun flick. Even though Tom Cruise is the star. But he's good! And very likely not yet the crazy Scientologist, so maybe we're allowed to like him in this movie. 

P.S.

The eyrie is the two windows on the second floor on the left.

Maybe Partying Will Help

Not an original title, I'm sorry to say. M reported it to me as a bumper sticker glimpsed on the way home. Works for me, though.

Out on the block little noises and a basketball bomping out its distinctive call, now that the rain has abated temporarily. The occasional parent comes down the hill with the family dog to check on the players. All is well. The parents should just use me as the town crier — the basketball hoop is directly across the street from my eyrie and I could radio in any foul play. The sun is setting, but there is plenty of hoop time left...really.

Spaghetti and faux meatballs tonight for dinner. Now how's that for partying? Late Sunday afternoon/evening has always been a favorite time of mine. It may stem from the days when Masterpiece Theater loomed at 9 p.m., but I think it is also because that afternoon was a slow one, with some room for creativity and reflection, a pick-up supper (family-speak), maybe tea in the late afternoon, books, a fire. And it helped that I was a kid who loved school and didn't care that Monday was just a few hours away. School + Masterpiece Theater! Now that's real partying!

Winter Wondering Land

Yes, it's been a little while, with a minor distraction along the way. It's called Thanksgiving, and I am ever so thankful that it is gone for another year. Maybe it'll not happen next year?! Here's the menu I submitted for approval to Aged Parent, a good week before:

Brussels sprouts soup with garlic croutons
Salmon en croute
Mashed potatoes
Julienned green beans with slivered almonds
Cranberries
Corn Pudding
Biscuits
Pumpkin Pie
Apple pie
Indian pudding 

So the day before the holiday I start preparing some things for the next day. The croutons, for example, which I baked in the oven after tossing them with olive oil, grated garlic, chopped parsley. They were lovely. But they did trigger an alarm with Aged Parent over the heat in the oven. She decided there and then that nothing could be cooked in the oven over 400 degrees F. Nothing. Because it would "blow" the oven, apparently. Yes, blow it. AP suggested I just cook everything at 350. I said it doesn't work that way. No amount of rational discussion could sway her. She even extended it to not wanting the oven on "all day"  (good thing we hadn't planned on a turkey...).
So the menu became this:



Brussels sprouts soup with garlic croutons*
Salmon en croute
Mashed potatoes
Julienned green beans with slivered almonds
Cranberries
Corn Pudding
Biscuits

Pumpkin Pie
Apple pie
Indian pudding


* Yes, the croutons were served only because I had cooked them the day before.


So welcome to the Baby Food Thanksgiving. It was odd...and frustrating, to say the least, but the good humor of my fellow adults (and the one 8-year-old) saved my sanity. Another thing to be Thankful for.


And on to Xmas! Also, a new year. A purely societal contrivance (when starting in January as opposed to, say, springtime), I admit, but so very convenient when one really needs to think there's a new start. My plan is to burn (really) my datebook from the heinous 2010. Remove the mojo of the Year o' Hell (well, maybe Heck, since many people do have things far worse than I). So, bonfire on Ocean Beach anyone?

In Flanders Fields

Well, the obvious story here in the City is the Giants. So, not writing about that--although it is charming and happy and we're all stoked!

Ah, November, one of my favorite months. Warm & cool, gold & green. Holidays about food and history. Speaking of history, see the Flanders poppy? That's what November is about--the Great War--the real beginning of the 20th century. Mighty real, alas. 


So on Thursday 11 November take a minute (at 11 a.m.) to think of the first cataclysm of modern times (pretty fair to say that). I'm often asked why I study military history, strategy, tactics, spies, nurses, Resistance fighters, and franc-tireurs. Because far more innocents die in these conflicts (including many in uniform), and they deserve to be remembered.


Pax vobiscum.
 

Wasting Joy

You may think this is a metaphor, and it very well could be, but the reference here is purely literal.
The kitchen sink is from 1961, with a mechanism for stopping it up to retain water for dish washing. Aged Parent felt that somehow, no one could really be sure, the water was surreptitiously draining, so she made sure the seal was perfectly watertight by (I kid you not) cleaning the edges of it with her fingernail (as reported in detail to me). She made certain of the hermetic seal, showed me the now-operational sink, and justified this entire project with: "...otherwise we would be wasting Joy." Yup, the detergent. 
See why I am in an existential crisis?

The Eyrie

There may be a variant spelling: aerie. And some difference of opinion about pronunciation. But the effect is the same— a bird's view of the surroundings. It fits for my little white office here on the flat of the block. Office, refuge, eye of the storm. The storm today is the discussion about "Tilex," which I bought in accordance with the cleaning woman's wish. I spoke, ill advisedly, with Aged Parent about the toxicity of said substance, at length, now to my deep regret. I couldn't get to an acceptable non-toxic version on my checkered day of errands, settled for the toxic version (as I suspect many other well-intentioned souls have done also) for the sake of pure expediency. Well...now I have to eat my progressive, green words and justify to AP the acquisition of said toxic substance. Lordy above. Just don't try to phone me for the good 1/2-hour this will take. Probably I will...LIE. Yes, prevaricate, obfuscate, and downright not Tell the Truth. Why bother? Are my ethics compromised? Or is there a clause in the contract that understands the Aged Parent footnote?

Wartime

In the Bay Area during WWII (and immediately after) there was a tremendous housing shortage. There were masses of wartime workers building ships at yards all over the Bay. They needed housing, as did all the others posted here to service the PTO, the Pacific Theater of Operations. One place available for housing was the second floor of this house on 5^th Ave. And this was before my parents built a two-story addition (1961) onto the back. So it was even more cramped then. There were two families (their configurations aren’t known) living on the two floors of this house. Hmmm…sounds familiar.

So for me there is a convenient metaphor: wartime. Am I the counter-intelligence agent/stalwart housewife seeking out those who would damage the war effort and thwart the Free World? Or intrepid journalist waiting to be sent to Hawaii and then farther west to follow the troops in their valiant yet bloody slog to victory? The mother with stars in her window hoping none turn to gold? (If you contact me and know what gold-star mothers were you get a free glass of wine and possibly some more history fun!)

I could channel all three and with luck absorb their strength and vision. After all, wartime is just a metaphor.

AS TIME GOES BY...

...THINGS CHANGE, AS NOW OBSERVED FROM MY CROW'S NEST HERE ON THE BLOCK. BUT REFERENCES OFTEN LINGER LONG AFTER THE ORIGINS ARE GONE. NAMES OF HOUSES ARE ONE OF THOSE SIGNIFICANT REFERENCES: THE SOOYS', THE GORINS', THE KEMPNERS', AND SO ON. NONE OF THOSE PEOPLE ARE HERE ANYMORE. BUT MANY OTHERS ARE, FROM THE EARLY 1960s AND BEFORE. NEW FAMILIES AND RESIDENTS TRICKLE IN OVER THE YEARS AND OTHERS FILTER OUT, SOMETIMES LITTLE BY LITTLE AND OTHER TIMES WITH PLANNED PRECISION. 

WHAT STAYS PRETTY MUCH THE SAME? THE BLOCKNESS OF THE BLOCK. IT REALLY IS A KIND OF ISLAND, MORE OR LESS SELF CONTAINED. NOT LIKE IT WAS, THOUGH. NO ONE PLAYS KICKBALL OR BASEBALL IN THE STREET ANYMORE, AND THE WHITE SQUARES PAINTED AS BASES ARE EITHER PAVED OVER OR COVERED NIGHT AND DAY BY CARS. AND FORGET ABOUT ONE-FOOT-OFF-THE GUTTER.

ONE MORE TIME

AND THAT'S IT. Guess what I'm writing about? The marriage equity drama being replayed(again)in California. I think we've been married twice before...at least? Well, the first time was Domestic Partners -- still kinda radical. The 2d time was dissolved without our say-so by our native state. So this is 3d time lucky, more or less? If this one doesn't maintain its legality we're going for the shacking up for eternity. It's just too exhausting trying to keep track: Are we married? When were we married? When were we unwillingly un-married? We're too old for this, and too boring, really. So please let us be lumpy old moms who tear up at little things and ask for just a little dignity and a big piece of paper.

Painting the House

The scaffolding is down. From the front of The House. It was a challenging time for the denizens: dodging paint and people when having to take dogs out for their "needs"; negotiating the complex schedule of the painters with Aged Parent; translating English to Spanish for AP because, well, you can imagine. But the painters were lovely & apparently have experience of querulous old people. A stellar example.

Grey in My Soul

Grey here. Grey there. Inside and out. But heading over the bridge to the north may brighten things up. On all fronts.

Sheets

Percale. 100% cotton. Old and washed many times over to the point of beautiful smoothness. They also go to the corner laundry for washing, where they are ironed. Heavenly. This is another perk about living here to be remembered when the un-perky things rise up to challenge one. So far not too many un-perks, at least not ones that weren't anticipated and considered before embarking on this voyage. I love the sheets.

A Certain Vinegar Is an Internet Scam

Didn't you know? This is the lowdown from Aged Parent: any vinegar other than an ancient bottle of white Heinz vinegar must be a health scam from the Internet. We are talking Mrs. Bragg's here. But why argue? Why not just appreciate the sociology involved in the dialogue? It's a new approach to one's daily life. And it is very surprisingly not hard. Truly.

It's been such a long time since I could putter around (terminology from Long-Dead Parent) in the garden—but today I got to: deadhead roses, pull some weeds, sweep up leaves and crud. Felt so good! Dogs also puttered around. I even cut some hydrangea to bring into the house (having cleared permission from Aged Parent), and they do look lovely. The roses desperately needing cleaning up, so maybe we'll have some new blossoms soon to bring in as well. Aged Parent is very appreciative of the flowers now indoors.

AP is also is having more and more fun with the cats. Tom has wormed his way into her heart by being cozy on her lap—not at all surprising; he's pretty shameless. And lovey. But Ducky has her qualities as well: a reticent, elegant charm, nothing so forward as her transparent boy toy. She also is appreciated for her qualities by AP.

Little White Room

The damned cat is trying to block my screen. Pity me. But this is a wonderful little office in the front of the house -- the little white room with two windows and white curtains, overlooking The Block. There are way more cars here than ever there were in the 1960s. Probably an obvious observation. Still, do people now have more cars per household? Likely.

And all the strangers who bring their dogs up Our Block to run them in the Presidio. Never heard of that way back when. No one took one's dogs with intent out to run somewhere. All dogs just ran around, bothering people and children, depositing feces at will, and that is undoubtedly the reason for the current state of dog laws. With reason. I do not object; I just comment from a historical perspective.

This little room I lay in with a tragic pneumonia in 4th grade when my mother came in late at night to check on me and to parenthetically report that Reagan had won the CA election for governor. Now I'm dating myself. You can do the math. But the ingredients are interesting: Reagan, pneumonia, 4th grade. Funny combo but fairly typical for a childhood memory. This little room is connected to a big bedroom, also in the front of the house, through a door. Probably these were the main rooms, because the big room is connected to what was probably the Very Modern bathroom on this floor. So the little white room was a nursery? I think so. Makes sense. Given that the house was built in 1904 there may well be no original plans in City Hall -- didn't CH burn in the fire in '06? Anyway, old plans can only be fun.

Memories & Fog

Well, July fog in San Francisco really isn't worth commenting on, is it? As a child I watched it roll in waves over the wall and down 5th Avenue, thinking how very special & atmospheric it was, and it was. Haven't seen it yet as an adult, though. While based here, on 5th, as a returnee adult, perhaps I can find the rolling fog again. Unless global warming has f#$%d it up.

So...yeah, as Eddie Izzard says. Here on The Block. Camped out on the second floor of the childhood home while one's remaining parent (age 84) lives on the first floor. An historical note: this house was built in 1904 and first occupied by McLaren's assistant (one of them?). There are/were many Australian plants and trees in the garden as a result. The house stood up to the '06 EQ admirably. During WW2 it was split into flats to accommodate the wartime surge of occupants in SF. I hark back to that time now while living on the 2d floor. Somewhat different circumstances these days, but still a Time of Trial.

Dogs and cats are with us. Aged Parent is quite happy with them, indeed loves animals and is pleased to have them around without having to be responsible for them. Sounds good to me, but I am, alas, the primary caretaker for some time to come. When I am 84 someone else will be feeding and walking my dog(s), right?

Aged Parent is interested in: when we leave for work; what I cook for the dogs; very clean recycling; a closed garage door; moving one's vehicles at least 2 hours before street cleaning; salad dressing with not "too much oil." Her tolerance and general good spirits are most appreciated. It's a Very Brave New World. And it will last, with luck, for a short time so we can all part friends.

Stay tuned.

Open to Good News

Keeping one's anxiety from spilling over into everything in life every day is rather a challenge. I want my life back: a place of our own, with our things in it, so we can be ourselves again, be well, and do good work. I have to remind myself of good happy things that are in our lives every day, to keep as grounded as possible. I don't think I've felt so at a loss in a very very long time. Not fun, and I hope very much that this is the last time I ever feel this way.

Sea Level

Sandy dogs and a tiny flat. Learning lots here about feeling lousy. Wishing for more luck and less fate. But very very appreciative of all luck coming our way. Very.

Stay Tuned

Out of respect for the sensibilities of others and with remorse for ranting, I've withdrawn my first two posts.

More to follow, though, with a better sense of proportion.