Unraveling

Z is for...

Zelda!

She is the Boyo's dog. That makes her our granddog. But she has always lived with us. We treat her as our own. When the Boyo is here, she sleeps with him.  Spends most of her time in his room, keeping him company. But now that the Boyo is gone, Zelda sleeps with us, on Mr. Celia's side of the bed.  At his feet.  She is a little afraid of me and will get off the bed when I come in to go to sleep.  But by the end of the night, she's there again, snuggling up to Mr. Celia. They are pretty much pals.

Zelda is not a real trick dog but she is the master of the baby harp seal look.

And she can catch treats in mid air, a feat that I have tried, without success, to capture on camera.

I know I've used the dogs before, in the early stages of the ABC Along, but, hell.  It was time for a little gratuitous dog again, wasn't it? Plus, it will tickle the Boyo no end to see Zelda on the blog again.

With Zelda, I come to the close of the ABC Along.  It's been a good year.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Y is for...

Yikes!

There were three small earthquakes last week, with epicenters less than a mile from my house.  Thursday morning there was another. Yikes! Four earthquakes in eight days and I could easily walk to the sites of the epicenters. Has us all looking at earthquake maps and speculating about The Big One.

We live in earthquake country. Generally, we are used to this. It's just that so many in so short a time span has us a little on edge.  We all know what to do. You can usually hear it before you feel it.  You hear a low rumbling, the house begins to creak, and then the earth moves. Get up and stand in a doorway. That's what I did when the Loma Prieta Earthquake hit.

Everyone who was here in 1989 has a story about where they were for Loma Prieta.  The Boyo had just woken up from his nap. He was sitting in my lap. We were all home and watching the beginning of game three of the World Series - the Bay Bridge Series.  There was a little pre-shake.  I matter-of-factly got up and stood in the doorway between the dining room and the living room.  Then it really started shaking.  Cracks opened up in the dining room walls like zippers and little poofs of plaster dust came out.  The clock banged the wall so hard it bonged several times.  A ceramic train fell off a shelf and smashed to bits.  Our neighbor, a Lebanese woman, had been telling us how safe she felt in Berkeley.  Now she was screaming, "Is this The Big One? Is this The Big One?!!"

It wasn't.  But the chimney of the neighbors across the street fell.  A section of the Bay Bridge collapsed. In Oakland, an elevated freeway failed.  And in San Francisco a whole neighborhood collapsed or burned.

So are we prepared for The Big One? At my house, sort of.  We need to work on it, but I don't think we really believe it will happen, at least not soon.  But, Yikes!  It could happen any moment.  We should really be prepared.

And no, the photo above isn't an example of earthquake damage.  It's earthquake art - a piece called "Faultline" by Andy Goldsworthy and it's at the De Young Museum in San Francisco.  Here's another view:

Regarding Mr. Goldsworthy, if you haven't seen Rivers and Tides yet, Netflix it or rent it from your local video rental store.  You won't regret it.

X is for...

Xanthan Gum!

Made from the outer layer of a tiny, inactive bacterium called Xanthomonas Campestris, Xanthan Gum is used as a substitute for gluten in gluten-free baking and cooking.  It is an excellent all purpose thickener for dressings, gravies and sauces because of its unique ability to hold small particles of food together.  Most recipies call for just one teaspoon (or less), so this half-pound bag will last a year or more.

Living without wheat and gluten is not as much of a trial as some people might think.  True, I have to be mighty careful when eating out but my digestive system is not quite as sensitive as others' and there are multitudes of alternatives, when you stop and take a look. You can even bake a wedding cake  So don't be worrying about me, baby.  I don't feel deprived.  I'm on a gluten-free adventure!

W is for...

Wreath in the Window!

That's the kitchen window.  Every year just after Thanksgiving, the wreath arrives from the Boy Scouts.  So this is always the first of the holiday decorations that goes up in my house. And it is just so easy: take it out of the bag, and hang it from a hook that's already there.  Everything else takes a lot more time and energy.

We don't usually get a tree until the last weekend before the holiday.  I like to hold out because I like to keep the tree up until Epiphany on January 6. But when will I have time to get a tree? And decorate it?  And what about the other holiday decorations? I love lights.  But who has time to hang them?

Which brings me to another W: Workspace

There is barely a square inch of clear counter in there.  That's because I have spent the last week (including part of the weekend) reviewing these:

And next week we have the interviews.

But Saturday, Mr. Celia has planned us an overnight up the coast.  A little wine tasting, a little beach walking, a nice dinner and brunch.  And maybe a little shopping. The man knows what I need, bless him.

For now, I must sift through the papers on my desk and figure out what needs attention most, what I must file, and what I can safely toss into the circular file.  And at break time?

V is For...

Video Games!

by guest author Eva (the Girlie)

In light of the recent release of the latest generation of console systems, I have been asked to author this post.

I've been playing video games ever since I was little, stealing time on my cousin's NES or borrowing my younger brother's Game Boy, sometimes even getting a turn or two in on his Sega Genesis. But I never had a system to call my own.

The year I left for Japan, for a year-long exchange program in Tochigi Prefecture, my mother gave me a Game Boy Pocket along with a copy of Pokemon Red to keep me occupied on the 15+ hour smoking-acceptable plane ride (note: NEVER fly Malaysia Airlines). I spent the year leveling up and "catching them all."

It wasn't until I got my own place several years later, however, that it finally dawned on me that I could buy my own system and not wait any longer for someone else to get the hint. I did my research on the three current systems and finally decided on the Nintendo Gamecube. Not only was it the cheapest one out there, I also still had a bit of lingering brand loyalty to the Nintendo name left over from my NES/Game Boy days.

My slow descent into madness began with this Gamecube. On occasion, I was known to stay up until four in the morning trying to grow rare vegetables or sailing the high seas and collecting rupees. Soon I was prowling eBay, in search of classic consoles and deals on games unavailable in the US. My entertainment center grew to grudgingly include a Playstation 2 (great system, but I am not the biggest Sony fan).

Currently, my collection is six consoles strong, ten if you count handhelds like my Game Boy and the Nintendo DS. The latest additions are an XBox 360 (not the most girl-friendly system out there, but entertaining nonetheless) and a Wii, the most accessible console in years.

I'm going to have to cut it short here. I could go on like this forever, as I'm sure you can tell. Maybe next time we can get into my favorite genre: Rhythm Games!

U is for...

Union!

I present the happy couple.

And they do seem to be VERY happy.  The past week has been a whirlwind of people arriving from far and wide, last-minute wedding preparations and celebration.

On Saturday, this...

Became this...

The wedding cake was pronounced "Delicious!" One of the band members said, "I play a lot of weddings and that's the BEST wedding cake I've ever had."

Earlier in the week, I knitted this laceweight, handpainted soysilk...

Into this...

Which was worn by the bride for good luck.  (I used this pattern.)

There are so many more photos, but they'll have to be posted later. And there has been lots and lots of family time. We're all havin' a regular lovefest over here.

And also for Timothy...

Yes. T must also be for my darling brother Timothy, who did something unbelievably touching while running the NY Marathon.  I have been so freakin' busy this week, I wasn't able to look at his account of the marathon until tonight, when brother Pat reminded me.  I burst into tears in front of the family gathered for the rehearsal dinner. Just go and read the whole thing, all four pages.  It's worth it.

Go Timbo, Go!

T is for...

Thanksgiving!

There is plenty to be thankful for this year.  My brother's  wedding is this weekend.  There's a new baby on the way. Another brother is flying in tonight. And there are plenty of surprises and good times to be had in the week to come. 

Yet, in our Thanksgiving universe, things are changing. Every year for at least twenty-five years we've gone to Mr. Celia's family for Thanksgiving.  This is the family portrait from twenty years ago.

That's Mr. Celia and me in the upper left. The little girl in the pink dress is our Girlie and the thumbsucking baby in red is our Boyo.  He's sitting on Mr. Celia's Mom's lap, Mr. Celia's Dear Departed Dad is at the lower left and the little boy in blue is the father of our two grandnephews.  My, my how times have changed.

Mr. Celia's Mom has always owned our Thanksgiving. After the Girlie's first Christmas, when we spent Christmas morning with my family and then drove a grueling four hours to Mr. Celia's family Christmas dinner, I put my foot down.  "We're not doin' this next year," I said.  "Children should be able to spend Christmas Day in their own house.  They should be able to play with their new toys, stay in their pajamas and slippers, and relax."  And from then on, we have stayed home, had a leisurely Christmas morning and every other year we have traded hosting the dinner with my sister.  Then we would go down to Mr. Celia's family a day or two after, trying always to be there for Mr. Celia's Dad's birthday on the 27th.  Twenty-five years, ago after I put my foot down, Mr. Celia's Mom put hers down, too.  She said, "Well, if you're not going to be here on Christmas, can I at least have Thanksgiving?" And ever since then she has owned it.

Thanksgiving has always been the big annual family gathering for Clan Mr. Celia.  And it has always been held at Mr. Celia's Mom's house, with her getting up in the wee hours to put the turkey in the oven so we could eat a noontime dinner.  I would always bake pies and make cranberry relish (I could never, ever get used to that canned stuff!) the day before. Mr. Celia would get up early to help his mom, and watch the kids while I slept in. How wonderful to wake up to the delicious aromas of the cooking dinner!

It's funny, for years I chafed that we always HAD to go down to Grandmother's House for Thanksgiving and I romanticised Thanksgiving with my own family. And one year (I believe it was in 1993), when I was in my senior year at Cal and had a TON of papers to write, I stayed home and had Thanksgiving dinner with my family, while Mr. Celia took the kids to his family's dinner.  That year, I missed everyone so much (and the reality with my family was not nearly as romantic as I'd remembered), that I stopped chafing and started to really look forward to the tradition we'd developed and I've really enjoyed Thanksgiving with abandon ever since.  There's little pressure - Mr. Celia's family is really always more interested in what's going on with him and the kids - so I can really focus on relaxing for a few days and I've grown to appreciate and love them all for who they are.

And yet, as I said before, our Thanksgiving universe is changing.  It appears that Thanksgiving 2005 was the last one owned by Mr. Celia's Mom.  She suffered a "little" stroke in early December, which greatly affected her ability to take care of herself.  She moved in with Mr. Celia's Brother and his wife, who took really good care of her, but that 24/7 thing gets overwhelming after several months and finally, in August, Mr. Celia and his brother made the decision to move her to an assisted care facility.  She has been struggling with that adjustment ever since.

This year we will begin to develop a new Thanksgiving tradition as the ownership of the holiday passes to my generation.  Mr. Celia's Brother and his wife will host a (gasp) evening dinner. The two brothers and their cousin will have lunch with Mr. Celia's Mom at her new domicile and the rest of us will try to spread out our visits so as not to overwhelm her or interfere with the routine that holds things together for her. 

I hear we're going to have a traditional turkey and (gasp) barbequed salmon.  I, as always, will bring the pies, although I'm thinking of tinkering with the recipies a little bit, based on my experience with the wheatless, natural-foods baking I've been experimenting with for the wedding. And, of course, I'll make the traditional cranberry relish. Seems like they rely upon it now.  I own that part of the Thanksgiving tradition.

S is for

Sleepless...

Insomnia isn' pretty.

And most often it isn't caused by something dramatic.  At my age, it's just part of a suite. And it doesn't help that Mr. Celia is a world-class snorer. Seriously, he could win a gold medal in the Snoring Olympics.  So I get up, put on my slippers and robe, pour a glass of soy milk , read a few blogs, write a bit, and fret about going back to bed.  The one thing I can't stand is laying there listening to Mr. Celia sleep. It gets to the point where I just wanna punch him. Sleeping like that.

Then, suddenly, it's 5 a.m. and I'm ready to go back to bed for the day. But there's usually work to be done. No rest for the weary.

And then some things are worth getting up for. Being up for.

Let's change that to S is for Sunrise.

R is for...

Railroad!

I cross these tracks every work day - some days several times.  And many, many trains per day travel on these tracks.  Sometimes the trains are short, like this AMTRAK train.

And sometimes they are long freight trains that seem to stretch off into infinity.

Every time a train passes, I can hear the clang-clang! of the crossing gate, the whoo-whoo! of the whistle, and the rumble of the locomotive because the tracks are literally just outside my office window. 

When a train passes, all cross traffic stops.  Cars line up, pedestrians line up.  And they all wait impatiently for the train to pass.

And, believe it or not, if the train stops for a while ( which can happen when a fully-laden freight train is coming into the train yard about a mile from here) sometimes brave souls absolutely bonkers idiots will try to climb over the train to get to the other side of the tracks. People do some pretty dangerous and stupid things around railroad tracks.   (You may recall when this happened outside my office last year.)

The railroad played an important role in the development of Oakland, California and the Port of Oakland (where I work).  In fact, the establishment of railroads in California proved to be one of the most profound forces of change in the history of the state.  Whole towns and industries grew up around railroad stops.  Such was the case with Roseville, California, where Mom and Dad grew up. Roseville was in its railroad heyday during their childhoods and they remember its massive retarder yard that relied on gravity to aid in the movement of railcars.  It was the junction of the east/west north/south railroad lines.  A hub of railroad activity.  And today, Roseville's trainyard is still the largest rail facility on the West Coast.

When I was growing up, Roseville was still a railroad town from one end to the other. We spent time there in the summer and at holidays when we were kids because both sets of grandparents were there. Mom's folks lived within sight of the tracks and a distinctive bridge over the tracks that must have been built in the 1920s or 30s. My older twin brothers would put pennies on the tracks to be squashed by the passing trains and we would count the cars as they went by.  I always seemed to lose count after a hundred or so.

It seemed like everybody we knew in Roseville worked on the railroad. That's probably because both grandfathers did railroad-related work.

Grandpa (on the left) was a carpenter for the Pacific Fruit Express (PFE). He built and repaired boxcars. Gramps (on the right) was a locomotive engineer for Southern Pacific (SP). To a tiny impressionable girl, these two strong, tall men and the work they did seemed incredibly romantic. Still does.

And every time I cross these tracks
 

and hear the warning bells of the crossing gate, the train whistle, and the rumble of the locomotive engine

I think of Grandpa & Gramps.