Eating My Way Around the Valley of the Moon

Near Sonoma about twenty minutes from here, hugging highway 12, is a roadside Mexican eating place of exceeding charm but without affectation. El Mollino Central has been there for years, I understand. One thing that is unique about it is that customers walk right through the kitchen to get to the outdoor seating area. A well printed sign on the screen door reminds one  to step UP or DOWN when passing through. The clientele is diverse, but the presence of many hispanic laborers is a clue to its good taste.

Because of its popularity and authenticity the food never fails to satisfy and exudes freshness. Last time I was there I ordered fish tacos which were fresh and munchie. I usually succomb to the guacamole (even the small is a huge serving) and chips (thick but not greasy) for an appetizer. I recently took the  plunge and tried fish tacos for the first time. Yummy. Its hard to know what not to pick. Its not often one sees cooks casually cutting up piles of fresh octopus. Maybe for cerviche? I haven't extended my imagination quite that far yet.

On the other hand, my book club here has taken to going out to dinner once a month, trying to have the choice of a restaurant coincide with the geography of the book we are reading that month. My turn to choose a book (and restaurant) is coming up in November, and I'm drawing a blank. Any ideas out there? So far we've tried German, Indian, Portugese, Chinese, Japanese, and Mexican.

Anchor Baby

After Trump is elected I guess I will be deported to Canada, since my mother and sister were illegal residents at the time I was born in Seattle 85 years ago, my mother having somehow crossed the border with my sister when my sister was two or three. Somehow I don't think she was among Canada's worst criminals or rapists. My sis is deceased now but I'm wondering:
"Does that mean that my sister's four living children and ten grandchildren will be deported with me?" Somehow I don't think I'm up for the weather in Moosejaw, Sask. but Vancouver and Victoria are lovely, and almost no one carries weapons. Gasoline costs more, but there are no commercials on television. I've proposed to my niece Cheari that we buy a big house straddling the British Columbia border (before the fence is built) and she and I can sleep on the BC side while her husband catches his z's on the Washington side. She agrees. And since the West Coast is warming at such a rapid pace, within a few years our land will be producing pineapples and oranges. Come join us

Homeless in America

So far I haven't heard any of the candidates on either side of the aisle address the problem of homelessness, though Bernie Sanders comes closest. Perhaps they just haven't had time with all the  other issues to address? The subject is close to my heart as I have a niece and a great nephew currently homeless in the Seattle area. As well as I can figure, both suffer from mental illness. My niece is said to be in a shelter for older women and my great nephew, her son, an epileptic, is living in the woods but close to a bus stop. This downward spiral to homelessness started when my niece got laid off from a good clerical job at a hospital because they outsourced the whole billing department to India.
A year or so ago I first sighted the man in the picture on a street corner in Sebastopol, a nearby town. Somehow his colorful attire and posture suggests dignity. He is always accompanied by his rather obese white dog. I was told by local residents that he is a fixture, probably moving from park to park. I feel too shy to ask him to pose, though I'd love to. I'm sure he'd love a handout, as that is probably how he survives. Maybe next time I see him I'll get the courage. Is he mentally ill too? Probably. But when I captured this fuzzy shot he was strumming along with his guitar near a band at a free concert.

Nothing Cuter...

Finally a clear blue sky greeted me this morning as I shuffled outside to get my Sunday Press Democrat. Interpreted that means we are back to typical August days in the Valley of the Moon, the Rocky Fire being 86per cent contained. So helpful to have clear air. Thanks to Friday's Current Events session here (my venting venue) I survived the Republican debates, just barely holding on to my sense of humor. The heirloom tomatoes flooding the local markets are worth living for. After months of planning my friend Judy trekked to Seattle to adopt her yearned for apricot laboradoodle puppy.
Sage is just seven weeks. As the saying goes, there is nothing cuter than a new puppy. Judy has promised that I get to puppy sit when she goes to Canasta. I can hardly wait.

Lavender Harvest and Smoky Skies

  This lovely young tourist was smelling the lavender at Matansas Winery a few weeks ago when my friend Jan Jobert came to visit. She was really staring down a honeybee but I left it out of the painting on purpose thinking it would look too contrived. The lavender fields are pretty well harvested now and the grape harvest, quite early, is in full swing. The smoky skies for the last two nights have obscured the full blue moon making it yellow and orange. And for this breathing compromised old lady most days are spent reading and inhaling my portable oxygen.  The Berryessa fire is 95 percent contained, but the Clear Lake one seems to have a drive of its own and now encompasses 46,000 acres.  It would not shock me if we have to evacuate. So for distraction yesterday I went to see Mr. Holmes which was quite brilliant and today Im bouncing over to the Berger center here to see Mr. Turner, another excellent movie which I've already seen once. Pregnant thought: why don't we have some female titles? Well, both Holmes and Turner were a bit of narcissists, and perhaps most women are not that self centered. Happy August.

Summer in Full Swing

Even though I took this photo a few years ago at the Alameda County Fair, I imagine there is a similar scene at the Sonoma County Fair opening here on Tuesday. What is more adorable than baby farm animals? I just may have to paint them...
Meanwhile astronomers at the Ames Research Center in Mountain View yesterday announced a new planet, a close cousin to earth, dubbed Kepler 452B. It orbits its star about the same distance as the earth orbits its sun, so there is  likely water there. I wonder if there are little piglets too? Considering that there are not just thousands but millions of other galaxies, isn't it silly of us to think that we are the only one to sustain life.
Last Tuesday I discovered the quail in my back yard hatched a second clutch of eggs, and nine little furry spots looking like postage stamps took their first wavering steps under a rose bush near my pear tree. They weren't three feet from my dining room chair. What made me discover them? Daddy quail was patrolling the fence and trying with all his wits to fend off the neighbor's cat. I joined him in the task, many times that day. I haven't seen the babies again. I'm pretending mama quail moved them, because I can't cheerfully entertain the alternative.
Last night my book club, which has taken to eating out together once a month met at the Barlow in Sebastopol. On Thursday summer nights they have many free bands in a park like setting, and gourmet food trucks. It was such fun. A treat to see families dancing and kids of all ages jumping around joyfully. The air was cool and full of pollen. I took many pictures. I can hardly breathe today with allergies, but it was all together worth it.
As soon as I figure out Apple's new operating system, I'll be posting many new pictures. Happy summer!

Starting on 86

When Dolores Crowley (left), Shirley Frederickson (center) and I (right) entered the University of Washington in 1948 there were no dorms available for girls. The campus was exploding with WW2 vets attending on the GI bill, so to find a place to sleep a girl had to pledge a sorority. Thus three unlikely pledges from very different worlds were thrown into the same room on the third floor of Delta Zeta sorority. We suffered through memorizing all the names of the founders and sitting every night from 7-10 in the moldy dark basement at study table. We learned to pour demitasse coffee and rules of etiquette for a real lady...I failed at this. We wore white gloves most everywhere, except to classes. At all times we were instructed never to wear more than three points of jewelry at a time, which is to say if you wore a wrist watch and pearls you could wear one ring,  But if you wore earrings (pierced ears were considered vulgar, by the way) that was two points, and you could only add a watch. You got demerits for certain infractions, and after so many points you were confined in the house from 5pm Friday night to 8am Monday morning. Who would have imagined that 67 years later we three would remain dear close friends, all living in California. So last Tuesday I was honored by them at lunch here at one of my favorite restaurants, Sea Thai Bistro. After exchanging aches and pain stories we got down to the serious business of recalling life in the sorority. What seemed so serious then seems so funny now. I confided that one of the house boys, Pat, used to open his basement window so I could crawl in after hours. They remembered different things, all of which seem ridiculous and funny now. It was a wonderful addendum to my whopping big 4th of July party.
That same night my friend Chuck visiting from Guadalajara (and 4 years my junior) took me to dinner here at the golf course. Chuck and I go back about 50 years, so more nostalgia hit the airways. Yesterday my friend Jan Jobert from Oakland spent the night. Jan and I only go back eight years, but we are also dear friends. Last night we viewed the new Pixar film Inside Out. My opinion? With 85 years under my bulging belt, two masters degrees and a doctorate Im still not savvy enough to figure out all the complex layers of it.
Happy aging to you all.