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Before we got to wine country, we had to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, something I had held as part of my San Francisco experience. If I did nothing else "touristy" while I was there, I wanted to cross the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a clear, sunny day once we got to the bridge, for once it had no fog cloaking it, or clouds shrouding its towers. They loomed overhead, surrealist orange, and the suspension cable climbed toward them, higher as the car went toward the first tower, and lowering toward the center curve as we moved away. I wanted to pinch myself, but the conversation contained within Ripper* was too engaging and entertaining, and I forgot to. Beth shared the back seat, I hadn't had the chance to before now, but we got to spend some good time chattering with each other. (*Deb's name for her car)
The drive through Marin was pleasant, with a slight dislocation of brown hills instead of green, and trees not like NC native trees. But once into wine country, the similarity to NC mountains was unmistakeable. Except where in NC the large hilltop homes are surrounded by fields of even rows of Christmas trees, in wine country the fields are rows of evenly-spaced grapevines. The terrain flattened, and still the fields and hills were brown, or tan, or yellow. And then we turned onto the main wine country route, a two-lane similar to 421 into Boone, but instead of farms to either side, there were wineries. Each with its stone-built or rough-hewn wooden gate at the entry, a drive back into a walled courtyard, or a scattering of outbuildings, or the deep shade of old trees surrounding indeterminate buildings. We stopped, and walked through a shade-dappled courtyard past outdoor tables and chairs, clipped hedges and flower beds, to the tasting room, where patrons sat at a bar to sip wines. We had our own tasting, and Deb made arrangements to order a case of something wonderful when it comes on offer later in the season.
We drove on into a little town, the name of which eludes memory, but the main street was lined with shops and strolling shoppers, and resembled both historic Chapel Hill and downtown Boone. I was getting really hungry and wondered how the two diabetics in our party were faring. We went into Olivier's, a shop dedicated to the divine olive—flavored and herbed olive oil, esoteric oil pitchers, items carved of olive wood (SO gorgeous!), some china bits and bobs, and imported French olive oil based cosmetic items: soaps, shampoos, that ilk. Deb took Nilly off to the market to get her something kosher she could eat, and the rest of us wandered about the store, testing this oil or that spread, accumulating items to purchase. It got later, and we all got hungrier. Deb was reached by phone, and said she and Nilly would meet us at a restaurant just up the street, so we paid for our loot, had it wrapped and were reminded to pack the cork and metal dispenser top in checked baggage, as airport security would confiscate them as possible weapons. Then we moseyed. There was a disagreement with a snitty waitress over our being seated before she had the menus at the places.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stephl dealt with her firmly, and proved that we didn't actually need menus to sit down. The food was ordered and arrived, and Deb raved so over her mushroom soup that several of us brought spoons to sample it. Then she deconstructed it by taste, to try to replicate later.
We had one more winery we had to reach before they closed, so we missed the chance to investigate any more of the interesting little shops. While the rest of the group went into the tasting room, I was drawn to a bench outside, on the edge of a courtyard and within sight of the vintner building, and in the shade. There was a wonderful breeze, and a view of a lovely hillside with trees and vines framed by an arching branch of an enormous tree. It was idyllic, and I couldn't have swapped it for port and chocolate inside. Nilly came out, as she was neither tasting nor buying, and we had the chance to sit and talk a while. Marta, Deb's mother in law, came out shortly after, and I had the chance to listen while she and Nilly talked. It was infinitely relaxing and wondrously pleasant, and I would have been content to sit there into evening, but Deb's friend (and Anarach) Andrea, who had kindly volunteered to drive her car for the outing, joined us, followed soon by Deb. And then the sun lowered and the pattern of shade shifted...
...the way of the world. Nothing is forever.
Jessica, Steph and Laura were each taking red-eye flights home, and Deb was taking them straight to the airport, so the three of them rode with her. It was only then I realized I hadn't spent nearly enough time with any of them! I'd met them all the first time in DC in May, but this time it felt like I'd really started to get to know them better—but only a tantalizingly small bit. I wanted more! I still do! The drive home was fun, though. I rode with 'dre on the return trip, and Ellen and Ginger were the other passengers. We chattered and watched the sun fade and the fog appear as we neared the bridge and San Francisco. We'd planned to meet at Pancho's for Mexican for dinner, but Deena, Nicole and Katie, who had skipped the wine country tour, had gone there to meet us, and they said the place was packed. So they brought their food to Deb's, and the rest of us ordered out, and gathered on the patio Chez Grabien to eat. I was so grateful to get to see Nicole, Deena and Katie again. I don't know when we'll be F2F again, so every minute was precious. After we'd eaten it began to get chilly, so we moved into the living room—so many lovely people! And such an awareness of impending parting. The laughter was just a touch too quick and bright, and faded quickly to something edged with tears. And then it was time for Katie to take Nicole and Deena back to their hotel. Beth, Marta and the others left, too. And when Deb got back from the airport, there were only Nilly, Ginger, and me.
We'd developed an evening habit of watching Olympics and TiVoed episodes of Whose Line is it, Anyway? with Nic. It was a nice way to wind down. Ginger left to go down to Jeannie's, and Nilly and I went off to the dining room for her to pack, as she was leaving early Monday morning. I made her promise to wake me up to say goodbye.
The drive through Marin was pleasant, with a slight dislocation of brown hills instead of green, and trees not like NC native trees. But once into wine country, the similarity to NC mountains was unmistakeable. Except where in NC the large hilltop homes are surrounded by fields of even rows of Christmas trees, in wine country the fields are rows of evenly-spaced grapevines. The terrain flattened, and still the fields and hills were brown, or tan, or yellow. And then we turned onto the main wine country route, a two-lane similar to 421 into Boone, but instead of farms to either side, there were wineries. Each with its stone-built or rough-hewn wooden gate at the entry, a drive back into a walled courtyard, or a scattering of outbuildings, or the deep shade of old trees surrounding indeterminate buildings. We stopped, and walked through a shade-dappled courtyard past outdoor tables and chairs, clipped hedges and flower beds, to the tasting room, where patrons sat at a bar to sip wines. We had our own tasting, and Deb made arrangements to order a case of something wonderful when it comes on offer later in the season.
We drove on into a little town, the name of which eludes memory, but the main street was lined with shops and strolling shoppers, and resembled both historic Chapel Hill and downtown Boone. I was getting really hungry and wondered how the two diabetics in our party were faring. We went into Olivier's, a shop dedicated to the divine olive—flavored and herbed olive oil, esoteric oil pitchers, items carved of olive wood (SO gorgeous!), some china bits and bobs, and imported French olive oil based cosmetic items: soaps, shampoos, that ilk. Deb took Nilly off to the market to get her something kosher she could eat, and the rest of us wandered about the store, testing this oil or that spread, accumulating items to purchase. It got later, and we all got hungrier. Deb was reached by phone, and said she and Nilly would meet us at a restaurant just up the street, so we paid for our loot, had it wrapped and were reminded to pack the cork and metal dispenser top in checked baggage, as airport security would confiscate them as possible weapons. Then we moseyed. There was a disagreement with a snitty waitress over our being seated before she had the menus at the places.
stephl dealt with her firmly, and proved that we didn't actually need menus to sit down. The food was ordered and arrived, and Deb raved so over her mushroom soup that several of us brought spoons to sample it. Then she deconstructed it by taste, to try to replicate later. We had one more winery we had to reach before they closed, so we missed the chance to investigate any more of the interesting little shops. While the rest of the group went into the tasting room, I was drawn to a bench outside, on the edge of a courtyard and within sight of the vintner building, and in the shade. There was a wonderful breeze, and a view of a lovely hillside with trees and vines framed by an arching branch of an enormous tree. It was idyllic, and I couldn't have swapped it for port and chocolate inside. Nilly came out, as she was neither tasting nor buying, and we had the chance to sit and talk a while. Marta, Deb's mother in law, came out shortly after, and I had the chance to listen while she and Nilly talked. It was infinitely relaxing and wondrously pleasant, and I would have been content to sit there into evening, but Deb's friend (and Anarach) Andrea, who had kindly volunteered to drive her car for the outing, joined us, followed soon by Deb. And then the sun lowered and the pattern of shade shifted...
...the way of the world. Nothing is forever.
Jessica, Steph and Laura were each taking red-eye flights home, and Deb was taking them straight to the airport, so the three of them rode with her. It was only then I realized I hadn't spent nearly enough time with any of them! I'd met them all the first time in DC in May, but this time it felt like I'd really started to get to know them better—but only a tantalizingly small bit. I wanted more! I still do! The drive home was fun, though. I rode with 'dre on the return trip, and Ellen and Ginger were the other passengers. We chattered and watched the sun fade and the fog appear as we neared the bridge and San Francisco. We'd planned to meet at Pancho's for Mexican for dinner, but Deena, Nicole and Katie, who had skipped the wine country tour, had gone there to meet us, and they said the place was packed. So they brought their food to Deb's, and the rest of us ordered out, and gathered on the patio Chez Grabien to eat. I was so grateful to get to see Nicole, Deena and Katie again. I don't know when we'll be F2F again, so every minute was precious. After we'd eaten it began to get chilly, so we moved into the living room—so many lovely people! And such an awareness of impending parting. The laughter was just a touch too quick and bright, and faded quickly to something edged with tears. And then it was time for Katie to take Nicole and Deena back to their hotel. Beth, Marta and the others left, too. And when Deb got back from the airport, there were only Nilly, Ginger, and me.
We'd developed an evening habit of watching Olympics and TiVoed episodes of Whose Line is it, Anyway? with Nic. It was a nice way to wind down. Ginger left to go down to Jeannie's, and Nilly and I went off to the dining room for her to pack, as she was leaving early Monday morning. I made her promise to wake me up to say goodbye.
Before we got to wine country, we had to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, something I had held as part of my San Francisco experience. If I did nothing else "touristy" while I was there, I wanted to cross the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a clear, sunny day once we got to the bridge, for once it had no fog cloaking it, or clouds shrouding its towers. They loomed overhead, surrealist orange, and the suspension cable climbed toward them, higher as the car went toward the first tower, and lowering toward the center curve as we moved away. I wanted to pinch myself, but the conversation contained within Ripper* was too engaging and entertaining, and I forgot to. Beth shared the back seat, I hadn't had the chance to before now, but we got to spend some good time chattering with each other. (*Deb's name for her car)
The drive through Marin was pleasant, with a slight dislocation of brown hills instead of green, and trees not like NC native trees. But once into wine country, the similarity to NC mountains was unmistakeable. Except where in NC the large hilltop homes are surrounded by fields of even rows of Christmas trees, in wine country the fields are rows of evenly-spaced grapevines. The terrain flattened, and still the fields and hills were brown, or tan, or yellow. And then we turned onto the main wine country route, a two-lane similar to 421 into Boone, but instead of farms to either side, there were wineries. Each with its stone-built or rough-hewn wooden gate at the entry, a drive back into a walled courtyard, or a scattering of outbuildings, or the deep shade of old trees surrounding indeterminate buildings. We stopped, and walked through a shade-dappled courtyard past outdoor tables and chairs, clipped hedges and flower beds, to the tasting room, where patrons sat at a bar to sip wines. We had our own tasting, and Deb made arrangements to order a case of something wonderful when it comes on offer later in the season.
We drove on into a little town, the name of which eludes memory, but the main street was lined with shops and strolling shoppers, and resembled both historic Chapel Hill and downtown Boone. I was getting really hungry and wondered how the two diabetics in our party were faring. We went into Olivier's, a shop dedicated to the divine olive—flavored and herbed olive oil, esoteric oil pitchers, items carved of olive wood (SO gorgeous!), some china bits and bobs, and imported French olive oil based cosmetic items: soaps, shampoos, that ilk. Deb took Nilly off to the market to get her something kosher she could eat, and the rest of us wandered about the store, testing this oil or that spread, accumulating items to purchase. It got later, and we all got hungrier. Deb was reached by phone, and said she and Nilly would meet us at a restaurant just up the street, so we paid for our loot, had it wrapped and were reminded to pack the cork and metal dispenser top in checked baggage, as airport security would confiscate them as possible weapons. Then we moseyed. There was a disagreement with a snitty waitress over our being seated before she had the menus at the places.stephl dealt with her firmly, and proved that we didn't actually need menus to sit down. The food was ordered and arrived, and Deb raved so over her mushroom soup that several of us brought spoons to sample it. Then she deconstructed it by taste, to try to replicate later.
We had one more winery we had to reach before they closed, so we missed the chance to investigate any more of the interesting little shops. While the rest of the group went into the tasting room, I was drawn to a bench outside, on the edge of a courtyard and within sight of the vintner building, and in the shade. There was a wonderful breeze, and a view of a lovely hillside with trees and vines framed by an arching branch of an enormous tree. It was idyllic, and I couldn't have swapped it for port and chocolate inside. Nilly came out, as she was neither tasting nor buying, and we had the chance to sit and talk a while. Marta, Deb's mother in law, came out shortly after, and I had the chance to listen while she and Nilly talked. It was infinitely relaxing and wondrously pleasant, and I would have been content to sit there into evening, but Deb's friend (and Anarach) Andrea, who had kindly volunteered to drive her car for the outing, joined us, followed soon by Deb. And then the sun lowered and the pattern of shade shifted...
...the way of the world. Nothing is forever.
Jessica, Steph and Laura were each taking red-eye flights home, and Deb was taking them straight to the airport, so the three of them rode with her. It was only then I realized I hadn't spent nearly enough time with any of them! I'd met them all the first time in DC in May, but this time it felt like I'd really started to get to know them better—but only a tantalizingly small bit. I wanted more! I still do! The drive home was fun, though. I rode with 'dre on the return trip, and Ellen and Ginger were the other passengers. We chattered and watched the sun fade and the fog appear as we neared the bridge and San Francisco. We'd planned to meet at Pancho's for Mexican for dinner, but Deena, Nicole and Katie, who had skipped the wine country tour, had gone there to meet us, and they said the place was packed. So they brought their food to Deb's, and the rest of us ordered out, and gathered on the patio Chez Grabien to eat. I was so grateful to get to see Nicole, Deena and Katie again. I don't know when we'll be F2F again, so every minute was precious. After we'd eaten it began to get chilly, so we moved into the living room—so many lovely people! And such an awareness of impending parting. The laughter was just a touch too quick and bright, and faded quickly to something edged with tears. And then it was time for Katie to take Nicole and Deena back to their hotel. Beth, Marta and the others left, too. And when Deb got back from the airport, there were only Nilly, Ginger, and me.
We'd developed an evening habit of watching Olympics and TiVoed episodes of Whose Line is it, Anyway? with Nic. It was a nice way to wind down. Ginger left to go down to Jeannie's, and Nilly and I went off to the dining room for her to pack, as she was leaving early Monday morning. I made her promise to wake me up to say goodbye.
The drive through Marin was pleasant, with a slight dislocation of brown hills instead of green, and trees not like NC native trees. But once into wine country, the similarity to NC mountains was unmistakeable. Except where in NC the large hilltop homes are surrounded by fields of even rows of Christmas trees, in wine country the fields are rows of evenly-spaced grapevines. The terrain flattened, and still the fields and hills were brown, or tan, or yellow. And then we turned onto the main wine country route, a two-lane similar to 421 into Boone, but instead of farms to either side, there were wineries. Each with its stone-built or rough-hewn wooden gate at the entry, a drive back into a walled courtyard, or a scattering of outbuildings, or the deep shade of old trees surrounding indeterminate buildings. We stopped, and walked through a shade-dappled courtyard past outdoor tables and chairs, clipped hedges and flower beds, to the tasting room, where patrons sat at a bar to sip wines. We had our own tasting, and Deb made arrangements to order a case of something wonderful when it comes on offer later in the season.
We drove on into a little town, the name of which eludes memory, but the main street was lined with shops and strolling shoppers, and resembled both historic Chapel Hill and downtown Boone. I was getting really hungry and wondered how the two diabetics in our party were faring. We went into Olivier's, a shop dedicated to the divine olive—flavored and herbed olive oil, esoteric oil pitchers, items carved of olive wood (SO gorgeous!), some china bits and bobs, and imported French olive oil based cosmetic items: soaps, shampoos, that ilk. Deb took Nilly off to the market to get her something kosher she could eat, and the rest of us wandered about the store, testing this oil or that spread, accumulating items to purchase. It got later, and we all got hungrier. Deb was reached by phone, and said she and Nilly would meet us at a restaurant just up the street, so we paid for our loot, had it wrapped and were reminded to pack the cork and metal dispenser top in checked baggage, as airport security would confiscate them as possible weapons. Then we moseyed. There was a disagreement with a snitty waitress over our being seated before she had the menus at the places.
stephl dealt with her firmly, and proved that we didn't actually need menus to sit down. The food was ordered and arrived, and Deb raved so over her mushroom soup that several of us brought spoons to sample it. Then she deconstructed it by taste, to try to replicate later. We had one more winery we had to reach before they closed, so we missed the chance to investigate any more of the interesting little shops. While the rest of the group went into the tasting room, I was drawn to a bench outside, on the edge of a courtyard and within sight of the vintner building, and in the shade. There was a wonderful breeze, and a view of a lovely hillside with trees and vines framed by an arching branch of an enormous tree. It was idyllic, and I couldn't have swapped it for port and chocolate inside. Nilly came out, as she was neither tasting nor buying, and we had the chance to sit and talk a while. Marta, Deb's mother in law, came out shortly after, and I had the chance to listen while she and Nilly talked. It was infinitely relaxing and wondrously pleasant, and I would have been content to sit there into evening, but Deb's friend (and Anarach) Andrea, who had kindly volunteered to drive her car for the outing, joined us, followed soon by Deb. And then the sun lowered and the pattern of shade shifted...
...the way of the world. Nothing is forever.
Jessica, Steph and Laura were each taking red-eye flights home, and Deb was taking them straight to the airport, so the three of them rode with her. It was only then I realized I hadn't spent nearly enough time with any of them! I'd met them all the first time in DC in May, but this time it felt like I'd really started to get to know them better—but only a tantalizingly small bit. I wanted more! I still do! The drive home was fun, though. I rode with 'dre on the return trip, and Ellen and Ginger were the other passengers. We chattered and watched the sun fade and the fog appear as we neared the bridge and San Francisco. We'd planned to meet at Pancho's for Mexican for dinner, but Deena, Nicole and Katie, who had skipped the wine country tour, had gone there to meet us, and they said the place was packed. So they brought their food to Deb's, and the rest of us ordered out, and gathered on the patio Chez Grabien to eat. I was so grateful to get to see Nicole, Deena and Katie again. I don't know when we'll be F2F again, so every minute was precious. After we'd eaten it began to get chilly, so we moved into the living room—so many lovely people! And such an awareness of impending parting. The laughter was just a touch too quick and bright, and faded quickly to something edged with tears. And then it was time for Katie to take Nicole and Deena back to their hotel. Beth, Marta and the others left, too. And when Deb got back from the airport, there were only Nilly, Ginger, and me.
We'd developed an evening habit of watching Olympics and TiVoed episodes of Whose Line is it, Anyway? with Nic. It was a nice way to wind down. Ginger left to go down to Jeannie's, and Nilly and I went off to the dining room for her to pack, as she was leaving early Monday morning. I made her promise to wake me up to say goodbye.
The supershuttle was coming promptly at 6:00 to take Nilly to the airport. I was awake, though, before she called me. I threw some clothes on, and Deb and I helped carry her bags downstairs and out onto the sidewalk to await the shuttle. It was a real San Francisco morning—foggy, drizzly, and chill. All too soon the shuttle was there, and there was a brief flurry of hugs, and then Nilly was gone, on her way into Nora's keeping and the company of the East Coast contingent of Nillytour '04.
Deb went back to bed for a few hours, and I did too. But first, I ducked into the bathroom for a wash, and wasn't quite quick enough to shut the door; Tommy came with me. Thomas loves the bathroom. It's like he has one single human as a captive love slave. Aloof and touch-me-not most of the time, in the loo he not only allows petting, he demands it. And he purrs like an outboard. I admit, I spent longer than usual at my ablutions, enchanted with the company. Ginger came up midmorning and we had coffee, and she decided to go ahead and move her stuff up. She would be my roommate that night, since we were both leaving on the same flight on Tuesday. Betsy had requested lunch, and I was only too glad to see her again. The last—and only—time had been a month or two before she moved to the west coast from NC. I'd managed to miss her at every opportunity since. It was still foggy and grey when we left, but by the time we'd gone over the mountain and down into the valley, it was a bright, sunny, warm day. We picked Betsy up at her work, and went to a restaurant close by. The food was good, and the company was better. Lunch hour was all too short though, and we dropped Betsy off before heading back to pick up cat food and a few groceries. Deb asked if we wanted her to drop us off at Fisherman's Wharf to do the tourist thing? We could ride buses or cable car back to the house. Ginger jumped at the chance, and I gave it serious consideration, but decided what I wanted was a few quiet hours, and maybe a nap. The drive was fantastic, though, more scenery! More architecture! Ginger had phone numbers and directions, and she set out to tourist until she got tired of it. Deb was, justifiably, reeling, and she went off to nap as soon as we got home. I caught up on email and the F2F thread, and then stretched out on the sofa with my book. And very soon had an accumulation of cats. Cappuccino curled up at my feet, Gadabout in my lap, Buffy in the chair behind me, Rupert on the back of the sofa, Stanley on top of the entertainment center, Thomas in the other chair and Slim on the floor cushion. It was a lovely couple of hours, during which I dozed off more than once. Gadabout got down and joined Slim on the floor cushion. Wendy wandered by and gave me the hairy eyeball. Willow took Gad's place on my lap. I may have dozed off again. Heaven.
Ginger got back, and showed off her loot. Deb woke up feeling a little better. She spent some time trying to catch up in her office. Days tending to everyone else's needs had let things go unread, unwritten, unanswered.
Nicole had called to say that both she and Deena had gotten shuttles to the airport, no problem, and thanks to Deb, and goodby. It was great, and sad, to hear her voice and know she was already gone by the time the message was played. Ginger and I did as much packing as we could, and Deb wondered what we wanted for dinner. "Scrambled eggs?" I offered the fast, simple, easy. She didn't want scrambled eggs. Never try to make it easy for a gourmet cook. "Take out?" Still trying with the easy.
"What if I just pick up a few little steaks and grill them on the stove? That's easy." Well, your definition is different from mine. That sounds...pretty incredible, actually. And it was. Another evening of Olympics and Whose Line, and Ginger and I both made a relatively early night of it, went to bed, and read.
Tuesday, 8/24
And all too soon it was morning, and the adventure was done. Deb dropped us at the Delta gate, and it was homeward bound for Ginger and me.
Even the several crying children weren't too awful, due to the air noise outside my window, and the intermittent stopping-up of my ears. The plane wasn't full, so Ginger moved to her very own window seat, and I was free to cloud-watch and speculate on where we were, there being no helpful handy onscreen map, as there had been on the flight out. I paid half-attention to silent 13 Going on 30, especially the Andy Serkis and Thriller bits. But mostly I cloud-watched. While I was in the lavatory, we left the sun behind and it became night. Surprise! But then there was a half-moon to turn the cloud edges silver. And then we landed in Atlanta. My adventures there have already been reported in an earlier post.
It was a fabulous trip, with only wonderful people, and exhilarating experiences. When can we do it again?
Deb went back to bed for a few hours, and I did too. But first, I ducked into the bathroom for a wash, and wasn't quite quick enough to shut the door; Tommy came with me. Thomas loves the bathroom. It's like he has one single human as a captive love slave. Aloof and touch-me-not most of the time, in the loo he not only allows petting, he demands it. And he purrs like an outboard. I admit, I spent longer than usual at my ablutions, enchanted with the company. Ginger came up midmorning and we had coffee, and she decided to go ahead and move her stuff up. She would be my roommate that night, since we were both leaving on the same flight on Tuesday. Betsy had requested lunch, and I was only too glad to see her again. The last—and only—time had been a month or two before she moved to the west coast from NC. I'd managed to miss her at every opportunity since. It was still foggy and grey when we left, but by the time we'd gone over the mountain and down into the valley, it was a bright, sunny, warm day. We picked Betsy up at her work, and went to a restaurant close by. The food was good, and the company was better. Lunch hour was all too short though, and we dropped Betsy off before heading back to pick up cat food and a few groceries. Deb asked if we wanted her to drop us off at Fisherman's Wharf to do the tourist thing? We could ride buses or cable car back to the house. Ginger jumped at the chance, and I gave it serious consideration, but decided what I wanted was a few quiet hours, and maybe a nap. The drive was fantastic, though, more scenery! More architecture! Ginger had phone numbers and directions, and she set out to tourist until she got tired of it. Deb was, justifiably, reeling, and she went off to nap as soon as we got home. I caught up on email and the F2F thread, and then stretched out on the sofa with my book. And very soon had an accumulation of cats. Cappuccino curled up at my feet, Gadabout in my lap, Buffy in the chair behind me, Rupert on the back of the sofa, Stanley on top of the entertainment center, Thomas in the other chair and Slim on the floor cushion. It was a lovely couple of hours, during which I dozed off more than once. Gadabout got down and joined Slim on the floor cushion. Wendy wandered by and gave me the hairy eyeball. Willow took Gad's place on my lap. I may have dozed off again. Heaven.
Ginger got back, and showed off her loot. Deb woke up feeling a little better. She spent some time trying to catch up in her office. Days tending to everyone else's needs had let things go unread, unwritten, unanswered.
Nicole had called to say that both she and Deena had gotten shuttles to the airport, no problem, and thanks to Deb, and goodby. It was great, and sad, to hear her voice and know she was already gone by the time the message was played. Ginger and I did as much packing as we could, and Deb wondered what we wanted for dinner. "Scrambled eggs?" I offered the fast, simple, easy. She didn't want scrambled eggs. Never try to make it easy for a gourmet cook. "Take out?" Still trying with the easy.
"What if I just pick up a few little steaks and grill them on the stove? That's easy." Well, your definition is different from mine. That sounds...pretty incredible, actually. And it was. Another evening of Olympics and Whose Line, and Ginger and I both made a relatively early night of it, went to bed, and read.
Tuesday, 8/24
And all too soon it was morning, and the adventure was done. Deb dropped us at the Delta gate, and it was homeward bound for Ginger and me.
Even the several crying children weren't too awful, due to the air noise outside my window, and the intermittent stopping-up of my ears. The plane wasn't full, so Ginger moved to her very own window seat, and I was free to cloud-watch and speculate on where we were, there being no helpful handy onscreen map, as there had been on the flight out. I paid half-attention to silent 13 Going on 30, especially the Andy Serkis and Thriller bits. But mostly I cloud-watched. While I was in the lavatory, we left the sun behind and it became night. Surprise! But then there was a half-moon to turn the cloud edges silver. And then we landed in Atlanta. My adventures there have already been reported in an earlier post.
It was a fabulous trip, with only wonderful people, and exhilarating experiences. When can we do it again?
The supershuttle was coming promptly at 6:00 to take Nilly to the airport. I was awake, though, before she called me. I threw some clothes on, and Deb and I helped carry her bags downstairs and out onto the sidewalk to await the shuttle. It was a real San Francisco morning—foggy, drizzly, and chill. All too soon the shuttle was there, and there was a brief flurry of hugs, and then Nilly was gone, on her way into Nora's keeping and the company of the East Coast contingent of Nillytour '04.
Deb went back to bed for a few hours, and I did too. But first, I ducked into the bathroom for a wash, and wasn't quite quick enough to shut the door; Tommy came with me. Thomas loves the bathroom. It's like he has one single human as a captive love slave. Aloof and touch-me-not most of the time, in the loo he not only allows petting, he demands it. And he purrs like an outboard. I admit, I spent longer than usual at my ablutions, enchanted with the company. Ginger came up midmorning and we had coffee, and she decided to go ahead and move her stuff up. She would be my roommate that night, since we were both leaving on the same flight on Tuesday. Betsy had requested lunch, and I was only too glad to see her again. The last—and only—time had been a month or two before she moved to the west coast from NC. I'd managed to miss her at every opportunity since. It was still foggy and grey when we left, but by the time we'd gone over the mountain and down into the valley, it was a bright, sunny, warm day. We picked Betsy up at her work, and went to a restaurant close by. The food was good, and the company was better. Lunch hour was all too short though, and we dropped Betsy off before heading back to pick up cat food and a few groceries. Deb asked if we wanted her to drop us off at Fisherman's Wharf to do the tourist thing? We could ride buses or cable car back to the house. Ginger jumped at the chance, and I gave it serious consideration, but decided what I wanted was a few quiet hours, and maybe a nap. The drive was fantastic, though, more scenery! More architecture! Ginger had phone numbers and directions, and she set out to tourist until she got tired of it. Deb was, justifiably, reeling, and she went off to nap as soon as we got home. I caught up on email and the F2F thread, and then stretched out on the sofa with my book. And very soon had an accumulation of cats. Cappuccino curled up at my feet, Gadabout in my lap, Buffy in the chair behind me, Rupert on the back of the sofa, Stanley on top of the entertainment center, Thomas in the other chair and Slim on the floor cushion. It was a lovely couple of hours, during which I dozed off more than once. Gadabout got down and joined Slim on the floor cushion. Wendy wandered by and gave me the hairy eyeball. Willow took Gad's place on my lap. I may have dozed off again. Heaven.
Ginger got back, and showed off her loot. Deb woke up feeling a little better. She spent some time trying to catch up in her office. Days tending to everyone else's needs had let things go unread, unwritten, unanswered.
Nicole had called to say that both she and Deena had gotten shuttles to the airport, no problem, and thanks to Deb, and goodby. It was great, and sad, to hear her voice and know she was already gone by the time the message was played. Ginger and I did as much packing as we could, and Deb wondered what we wanted for dinner. "Scrambled eggs?" I offered the fast, simple, easy. She didn't want scrambled eggs. Never try to make it easy for a gourmet cook. "Take out?" Still trying with the easy.
"What if I just pick up a few little steaks and grill them on the stove? That's easy." Well, your definition is different from mine. That sounds...pretty incredible, actually. And it was. Another evening of Olympics and Whose Line, and Ginger and I both made a relatively early night of it, went to bed, and read.
Tuesday, 8/24
And all too soon it was morning, and the adventure was done. Deb dropped us at the Delta gate, and it was homeward bound for Ginger and me.
Even the several crying children weren't too awful, due to the air noise outside my window, and the intermittent stopping-up of my ears. The plane wasn't full, so Ginger moved to her very own window seat, and I was free to cloud-watch and speculate on where we were, there being no helpful handy onscreen map, as there had been on the flight out. I paid half-attention to silent 13 Going on 30, especially the Andy Serkis and Thriller bits. But mostly I cloud-watched. While I was in the lavatory, we left the sun behind and it became night. Surprise! But then there was a half-moon to turn the cloud edges silver. And then we landed in Atlanta. My adventures there have already been reported in an earlier post.
It was a fabulous trip, with only wonderful people, and exhilarating experiences. When can we do it again?
Deb went back to bed for a few hours, and I did too. But first, I ducked into the bathroom for a wash, and wasn't quite quick enough to shut the door; Tommy came with me. Thomas loves the bathroom. It's like he has one single human as a captive love slave. Aloof and touch-me-not most of the time, in the loo he not only allows petting, he demands it. And he purrs like an outboard. I admit, I spent longer than usual at my ablutions, enchanted with the company. Ginger came up midmorning and we had coffee, and she decided to go ahead and move her stuff up. She would be my roommate that night, since we were both leaving on the same flight on Tuesday. Betsy had requested lunch, and I was only too glad to see her again. The last—and only—time had been a month or two before she moved to the west coast from NC. I'd managed to miss her at every opportunity since. It was still foggy and grey when we left, but by the time we'd gone over the mountain and down into the valley, it was a bright, sunny, warm day. We picked Betsy up at her work, and went to a restaurant close by. The food was good, and the company was better. Lunch hour was all too short though, and we dropped Betsy off before heading back to pick up cat food and a few groceries. Deb asked if we wanted her to drop us off at Fisherman's Wharf to do the tourist thing? We could ride buses or cable car back to the house. Ginger jumped at the chance, and I gave it serious consideration, but decided what I wanted was a few quiet hours, and maybe a nap. The drive was fantastic, though, more scenery! More architecture! Ginger had phone numbers and directions, and she set out to tourist until she got tired of it. Deb was, justifiably, reeling, and she went off to nap as soon as we got home. I caught up on email and the F2F thread, and then stretched out on the sofa with my book. And very soon had an accumulation of cats. Cappuccino curled up at my feet, Gadabout in my lap, Buffy in the chair behind me, Rupert on the back of the sofa, Stanley on top of the entertainment center, Thomas in the other chair and Slim on the floor cushion. It was a lovely couple of hours, during which I dozed off more than once. Gadabout got down and joined Slim on the floor cushion. Wendy wandered by and gave me the hairy eyeball. Willow took Gad's place on my lap. I may have dozed off again. Heaven.
Ginger got back, and showed off her loot. Deb woke up feeling a little better. She spent some time trying to catch up in her office. Days tending to everyone else's needs had let things go unread, unwritten, unanswered.
Nicole had called to say that both she and Deena had gotten shuttles to the airport, no problem, and thanks to Deb, and goodby. It was great, and sad, to hear her voice and know she was already gone by the time the message was played. Ginger and I did as much packing as we could, and Deb wondered what we wanted for dinner. "Scrambled eggs?" I offered the fast, simple, easy. She didn't want scrambled eggs. Never try to make it easy for a gourmet cook. "Take out?" Still trying with the easy.
"What if I just pick up a few little steaks and grill them on the stove? That's easy." Well, your definition is different from mine. That sounds...pretty incredible, actually. And it was. Another evening of Olympics and Whose Line, and Ginger and I both made a relatively early night of it, went to bed, and read.
Tuesday, 8/24
And all too soon it was morning, and the adventure was done. Deb dropped us at the Delta gate, and it was homeward bound for Ginger and me.
Even the several crying children weren't too awful, due to the air noise outside my window, and the intermittent stopping-up of my ears. The plane wasn't full, so Ginger moved to her very own window seat, and I was free to cloud-watch and speculate on where we were, there being no helpful handy onscreen map, as there had been on the flight out. I paid half-attention to silent 13 Going on 30, especially the Andy Serkis and Thriller bits. But mostly I cloud-watched. While I was in the lavatory, we left the sun behind and it became night. Surprise! But then there was a half-moon to turn the cloud edges silver. And then we landed in Atlanta. My adventures there have already been reported in an earlier post.
It was a fabulous trip, with only wonderful people, and exhilarating experiences. When can we do it again?
H and I watched Titanic on dvd last night. Shut up. He wanted to watch something and this was better than John Wayne. Or Patton. Again.
But it went really fast. I looked at all the digital effects, and at the costumes and the incredible set decoration. I remembered the tv specials and the hardcover picture books about the making of this movie, and how Cameron was so painstaking and specific about details like the White Star logo on the dishes. At the time, 1997, seven years ago, it was probably the most carefully researched and accurately recreated at great expense movie in history.
It made me wonder. In seven years, will the Lord of the Rings films be as quaint and nostalgic? Will Jackson's insistence on "historical accuracy" of fictitious peoples and their clothing, possessions, appearance, seem as futile as Cameron's passion for detail appears to me now?
Somehow I can't think so. But time will probably prove me wrong.
But it went really fast. I looked at all the digital effects, and at the costumes and the incredible set decoration. I remembered the tv specials and the hardcover picture books about the making of this movie, and how Cameron was so painstaking and specific about details like the White Star logo on the dishes. At the time, 1997, seven years ago, it was probably the most carefully researched and accurately recreated at great expense movie in history.
It made me wonder. In seven years, will the Lord of the Rings films be as quaint and nostalgic? Will Jackson's insistence on "historical accuracy" of fictitious peoples and their clothing, possessions, appearance, seem as futile as Cameron's passion for detail appears to me now?
Somehow I can't think so. But time will probably prove me wrong.
H and I watched Titanic on dvd last night. Shut up. He wanted to watch something and this was better than John Wayne. Or Patton. Again.
But it went really fast. I looked at all the digital effects, and at the costumes and the incredible set decoration. I remembered the tv specials and the hardcover picture books about the making of this movie, and how Cameron was so painstaking and specific about details like the White Star logo on the dishes. At the time, 1997, seven years ago, it was probably the most carefully researched and accurately recreated at great expense movie in history.
It made me wonder. In seven years, will the Lord of the Rings films be as quaint and nostalgic? Will Jackson's insistence on "historical accuracy" of fictitious peoples and their clothing, possessions, appearance, seem as futile as Cameron's passion for detail appears to me now?
Somehow I can't think so. But time will probably prove me wrong.
But it went really fast. I looked at all the digital effects, and at the costumes and the incredible set decoration. I remembered the tv specials and the hardcover picture books about the making of this movie, and how Cameron was so painstaking and specific about details like the White Star logo on the dishes. At the time, 1997, seven years ago, it was probably the most carefully researched and accurately recreated at great expense movie in history.
It made me wonder. In seven years, will the Lord of the Rings films be as quaint and nostalgic? Will Jackson's insistence on "historical accuracy" of fictitious peoples and their clothing, possessions, appearance, seem as futile as Cameron's passion for detail appears to me now?
Somehow I can't think so. But time will probably prove me wrong.
.