One of the greatest things about this 5 month sabbatical is, no surprise, all of the time off. And coincidentally, my days off now coincide with my brother’s normal days off of Tuesday and Wednesday. As a result, I have been taking this time to hang out with my brother Cody. We have spent the past few months hanging out, going to the movies (The Hangover and Inglorious Bastards…both amazing and worth checking out, assuming you like guy movies and Tarentino films, respectfully), enjoying a few beers and dim sum on random Tuesday mornings. I even had the chance to watch my brother and dad play in their summer softball league (they came in third place in the championships, which considering the amount of alcohol consumed during the playoffs by the team players and the lack of motivation to win, since it meant having to play again, was no small feat).
But the highlight of my time with Cody so far has been dinner with him and his guy friends. Every week, my brother makes a gourmet dinner for his close guy friends… Scott M. brings wine to perfectly compliment the meal and Scott C typically brings dessert. I consider these meals, and in reality all meals cooked by Cody, as sacred so I was super stoked to be invited for last week’s affair.
I showed up wearing my largest pair of pants (I didn’t want fashion to get in the way of good food) and was ready to hang out with the boys. And while I am not sure if it was the presence of a girl or the desire to get drunk, but it all of sudden seemed like a good idea to play chandeliers before dinner. Thankfully this was not my first rodeo, so I was able to maintain some composure after the game and actually enjoy the three courses Cody cooked…I wish I could say the same about some of Cody’s friends. (I might be older, more mature and a girl, but I can still play a drinking game or two.)
Dinner consisted of a cold gazpacho soup with cucumbers, grilled halibut over a white bean salad topped with a jalapeno sauce and basil and prosciutto stuffed chicken breast served with zucchini and a parmesan cheese cream sauce. Everything was to die for! Not to be out done, Scott C had brought over Mint Chip Its Its for dessert (for those not familiar with Its Its, they are an ice cream sandwich comprised of cookie, ice cream then cookie, dipped in chocolate to hold it all together…I would sell my first child for one on a hot evening).
After dinner and too many glasses of wine, I had to once again call my dad for a sober ride home (I had to call him the previous night after hanging out with the girls in SF…you know, living at home does have some perks). He picked me up around 11 and I spent the car ride home eating my Its Its like it was my last meal on earth, reeking of alcohol, and constantly repeating just how amazing Cody’s dinner was, especially the parmesan cream sauce. I hope I didn’t ruin my chances at getting invited again.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tour de California with Martin and Betsy (the Rental Car)
Betsy, our Ford Focus rental car, got us everywhere…a mere 1,905 miles when it was all said and done. She was a trooper for most of the trek, being ever reliable and gas friendly. However, I thought we were going to have to put her down after the dirt road in and out of Lake Pilsbury when the tires (or possibly the breaks) started squealing so loudly that our arrival was heard blocks before we came into sight. And, as if she wasn’t hurting badly enough already, she was rudely rear-ended on the last day of the journey (we were sitting outside my brothers restaurant and were able to watch the poor girl behind us put her car into drive rather than reverse). Yes, Betsy gave her all to us, and for that we thank her.
The stories below are from the travels, posted, as always, chronologically.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Brutality of Memory Lane
Lafayette, California is a small suburb town east of San Francisco where I grew up. My parents still live in the house I was brought home to from the hospital, and I still have the same bedroom since I was a child. This place and I have history; some good, some bad and some ugly. So no trip of California would be complete without a stop over here for at least one night.
We arrived to an empty house (the parents were out socializing) and, with a few hours to kill before dinner, I thought it would be fun and only right to share some of my childhood photos with Martin. He, it should be noted, was more than willing to indulge my curiosity when I went to his house in Germany…Unfortunately, my trek down memory lane (via the scrapbooks so carefully and lovingly put together by my mom) turned into a bitter spiral of disappointment including lost potential and ambition (voted most likely to be a millionaire and president, with goals of becoming the first female astronaut on mars and/or the moon), lost athleticism (highlighted by the yearly team photos of swim team, softball, soccer, gymnastics, etc) and a reminder of my not-so-cute years (approximately 4-19 years of age). The photos alone (me with bad teeth, bad clothes, big hair and bigger eyebrows) prompted involuntary cringes equal to an 8 minute abs work out. I eventually had to skip over the book that covered my life from 12-15 years old for fear of pulling a muscle. I am hoping that, like fine wine and stinky cheese, I am only getting better with age.
Thankfully, Martin is a gentleman, and polite enough to not kick someone while they are down. He only slightly giggled at the worst photos and has not brought it up again since his departure. Note to self: preview all photos and scrap books before sharing. It took an afternoon walking around town, dinner with the parents and a walk around the reservoir the following morning to bring me out of my funk. Martin was leaving on Saturday and we only had one night left together…there was no time for sulking.
We arrived to an empty house (the parents were out socializing) and, with a few hours to kill before dinner, I thought it would be fun and only right to share some of my childhood photos with Martin. He, it should be noted, was more than willing to indulge my curiosity when I went to his house in Germany…Unfortunately, my trek down memory lane (via the scrapbooks so carefully and lovingly put together by my mom) turned into a bitter spiral of disappointment including lost potential and ambition (voted most likely to be a millionaire and president, with goals of becoming the first female astronaut on mars and/or the moon), lost athleticism (highlighted by the yearly team photos of swim team, softball, soccer, gymnastics, etc) and a reminder of my not-so-cute years (approximately 4-19 years of age). The photos alone (me with bad teeth, bad clothes, big hair and bigger eyebrows) prompted involuntary cringes equal to an 8 minute abs work out. I eventually had to skip over the book that covered my life from 12-15 years old for fear of pulling a muscle. I am hoping that, like fine wine and stinky cheese, I am only getting better with age.
Thankfully, Martin is a gentleman, and polite enough to not kick someone while they are down. He only slightly giggled at the worst photos and has not brought it up again since his departure. Note to self: preview all photos and scrap books before sharing. It took an afternoon walking around town, dinner with the parents and a walk around the reservoir the following morning to bring me out of my funk. Martin was leaving on Saturday and we only had one night left together…there was no time for sulking.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Lake Tahoe
With two full days to enjoy at Lake Tahoe, and Ange and Scott at work, Martin and I each got to choose a day’s worth of activities. It only seemed fair.
We started my day off with breakfast at the Squeeze Inn followed by the hike down to Vikingsholm in Emerald Bay. Unfortunately I had only been there before via boat and, without access to the island, I found the bay less than I had remembered. Not to be completely disappointed, the walk down to the lake and back up the valley was refreshing and a great way to wake up. After completing the “exercise” portion of the day, we drove to Chambers Beach for the famous Chambers Punch and to lie in the sun and swim. With the sky cloudless and water warmer than I remember, the afternoon was perfect… both before and after getting kick off the private beach…in my defense, there is a public beach, we just got confused as to where it was in relationship to the bar. We left the beach, laughing like delinquent high schoolers and headed back to the house. Lying on the deck, we welcomed Scott and Ange home from work with beers and set off for dinner at Cottonwood Restaurant to enjoy the warm summer evening and sites over looking Truckee.
We started my day off with breakfast at the Squeeze Inn followed by the hike down to Vikingsholm in Emerald Bay. Unfortunately I had only been there before via boat and, without access to the island, I found the bay less than I had remembered. Not to be completely disappointed, the walk down to the lake and back up the valley was refreshing and a great way to wake up. After completing the “exercise” portion of the day, we drove to Chambers Beach for the famous Chambers Punch and to lie in the sun and swim. With the sky cloudless and water warmer than I remember, the afternoon was perfect… both before and after getting kick off the private beach…in my defense, there is a public beach, we just got confused as to where it was in relationship to the bar. We left the beach, laughing like delinquent high schoolers and headed back to the house. Lying on the deck, we welcomed Scott and Ange home from work with beers and set off for dinner at Cottonwood Restaurant to enjoy the warm summer evening and sites over looking Truckee.
That evening, Martin and I packed up a gourmet picnic spread (including veggies and dip, cheese, salami, crackers, brie, grapes, a baguette and, of course, wine and beer)…the four of us were heading to the Wednesday night Concert in the Park that Truckee puts on every week in the summer. The band was great, playing all of the classic songs we grew up with…“we“, meaning Ange, Scott and myself; poor Martin didn’t recognize a single song, but I suppose I would have been more surprised if he had. And in reality you don’t really need to know the song in order to enjoy it, or dare I say, dance to it. Truly, a perfect evening and a great way to end our visit in Tahoe.
We said good bye to Ange and Scott and made our way back to Lafayette for one night with the parents.Monday, August 17, 2009
Lake Worthy
As for me, I think Martin nailed it…he was willing and ready for everything: tequila shots with the dads, getting behind the boat for the first time to try (and succeed at) wakeboarding, wakesurfing and single waterskiing, the serious spread of appetizers and cocktails during happy hour and he was not concerned when dinner was presented well after dark. He handled everything. But more importantly than anything else, he understood my love for the lake and the people up there.
Our two days and nights with the family and friends were absolutely perfect, if only flawed that they would be my last before summer ended. Like always, the two nights went by too quickly and we were again saying good bye to the parents and back on the road.
Next stop Lake Tahoe to spend some time with one of my favorite married couples, Ange and Scott. But not before passing through the delightful towns of Nice, Lucerne (the self proclaimed Switzerland of America) Glenhaven and Timbuktu. And here all this time Martin thought we would only be touring California. For those who don’t believe me, take a drive across California on Highway 20 and you too can enjoy what the world (and/or Clear Lake) offers.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Hopland, California
The drive from San Luis Obispo to Lake Pilsbury on a good day is about 6 hours. The drive on a Friday afternoon, through traffic in Silicon Valley, San Francisco and Santa Rosa is a bit more painful. So after 6 hours into our drive and still at least 2 hours left to go, Martin and I decided to pull off the road and stay the night in the wine country before finishing the drive. Without a reservation anywhere and it being a weekend, we finally found vacancy at The Hopland Inn in, you guessed it, Hopland.
As a quick digression, one of the stories I remember most from my childhood and the drive up to Lake Pilsbury involved a fire at the Hopland Inn. As the story goes, on our way up to the Lake, my dad made his usual pit stop at the Hopland Brewery for one drink while we waited in the car. Upon leaving the bar he noticed that a fire had started on the roof of the hotel, located just across the street. Based on natural instincts, he went across the street, told the receptionist that the hotel was on fire and to call 911, and subsequently went upstairs to the roof to put out the fire himself. And whether it was my active imagination, my dad’s exaggeration or actual truth, I vaguely remember my dad mentioning he had peed on the fire to put it out (with enough beers from the brewery, this might actually be possible).
With this type of history, I was, needless to say, actually kind of excited to be staying in the hotel that had held my interest for so many years. And based on our one night there, I would stay in Hopland again! It was such a cute old hotel, with a long, oak wood bar and a fully restored library where Martin and I were able to enjoy one last glass of wine before heading to bed.
We awoke refreshed and ready for the final portion of the drive to the Lake. But not before breakfast at the Bluebird Café, with complimentary cinnamon buns, and a quick wine tasting. Even with the leisurely morning we were still on the road by 10:30am.
As a quick digression, one of the stories I remember most from my childhood and the drive up to Lake Pilsbury involved a fire at the Hopland Inn. As the story goes, on our way up to the Lake, my dad made his usual pit stop at the Hopland Brewery for one drink while we waited in the car. Upon leaving the bar he noticed that a fire had started on the roof of the hotel, located just across the street. Based on natural instincts, he went across the street, told the receptionist that the hotel was on fire and to call 911, and subsequently went upstairs to the roof to put out the fire himself. And whether it was my active imagination, my dad’s exaggeration or actual truth, I vaguely remember my dad mentioning he had peed on the fire to put it out (with enough beers from the brewery, this might actually be possible).
With this type of history, I was, needless to say, actually kind of excited to be staying in the hotel that had held my interest for so many years. And based on our one night there, I would stay in Hopland again! It was such a cute old hotel, with a long, oak wood bar and a fully restored library where Martin and I were able to enjoy one last glass of wine before heading to bed.
We awoke refreshed and ready for the final portion of the drive to the Lake. But not before breakfast at the Bluebird Café, with complimentary cinnamon buns, and a quick wine tasting. Even with the leisurely morning we were still on the road by 10:30am.
Friday, August 14, 2009
San Luis Obispo, a New Perspective!
I have always considered San Luis Obispo (or SLO for the sake of the blog) as my second home. Practically my entire family went to Cal Poly, the college in SLO, including myself, and my aunt, uncle and cousin still live down there. It is where I spent the greater part of 5 years and I loved every minute of it. Plus, no trip to CA is complete without a stop at the beach and I find the beaches of Avila, coupled with the charm of SLO so much more appealing than their close neighbor, Santa Barbara. The two days with Martin however, showed me a new side of SLO, which seemed more mature adult and less college boozehound. I loved it!
I decided to book us a room at the Garden Street Inn based on recommendations from my parents and its location exactly downtown. Plus, I had always been charmed by the late 19th century building, and so I was delightfully surprised at all of the additional details the inn had to offer: a full breakfast each morning, cookies awaiting our return each day and a wine and cheese happy hour from 5-6:30 every night. Anyone travelling to SLO and in the mood for something local and quaint, should stay here!
After the complimentary wine and cheese at the Inn, we took a walk around town while trying to decide where to eat…Buona Tavola for some Italian or Big Sky? We opted for Big Sky, one of my favorite restaurants in town and a typical California cuisine experience. With no cares in the world and no big pressure to see or do anything in particular, Martin and I headed to bed early, but not before a glass of wine on our own private deck.
The next morning we awoke fully refreshed and ready for a day at the beach. But first we had a few errands to run. First stop – the Black Horse at Uptown, for Martin to get his morning cappuccino (while we were served a full breakfast of waffles, eggs, bacon and coffee and juice, cappuccinos were not on the Garden Street Inn menu). Second Stop – a place with internet...I had one bill to pay online, so from coffee, we walked to the library (not to be confused with The Library, the bar…I made that mistake when initially asking the receptionist where we could find internet. Imagine…Her: “The Library has internet” Me: “The bar?!”… Yes, it was my immediate thought, resulting in a slightly awkward moment). It was my first time in any library in SLO (including both the county and college campus libraries) but we managed okay. Third and Final Stop – Gus’s Market for the best deli sandwiches to take to the beach.
The rest of the day was spent lounging at Avila Beach, swimming in the water, enjoying the sun, trying to figure out the kid to adult ratio (it seemed to be 30 to 1) and getting the most ridiculous burn lines I have ever seen, and this is coming from a red-haired, freckled Irish/Scottish descendent…a portion of my calves were burned where I rubbed off the sand along with the sunscreen and Martin managed to get what looked like a white Capital G on his right boob. My legs were so fried that I was forced to buy and wear a muumuu the following day to avoid additional exposure. Thankfully, it would have taken a lot more than a sun burn to ruin our day.
After fully cooking in the sun, Martin and I headed home quickly to shower before dinner with my aunt, uncle and cousin. We were going to a great new restaurant in Santa Marguerita called the Range and we had to get there early. The food, wine and company were all perfectly paired. Most of the dishes were based on locally raised meat and locally grown produce and everything was cooked to perfection…my lamb was the perfect shade of pink in the middle…it matched my face and legs exactly.
After the filling dinner (thankfully my cousin Livi was there to finish both desserts for us) we headed back into SLO for the final hours of the famous Thursday Night Farmers Market, one of my favorite things about the area and main reason for the dates of our visit We wandered through the stalls, smelling the fresh cut flowers, tasting the ripened fruits and wishing we weren’t so full so we could enjoy one of the many BBQs offered by the local restaurants. A quick beer at Frog and Peach helped us to end the night and we were once again in bed earlier than normal.
The next day we were faced with our biggest decision of the trip to date…where to have our final lunch before leaving. No trip to SLO is complete without the required lunch at both Franks Famous Hot Dogs and Firestone Grill. But not willing to slip back into my old ways and just have both, we settled on Firestones for the tri-tip sandwich and perfectly seasoned french fries. Yes, I chose Firestones over family, but I had my reasons…I guess we will just have to come back another time for the cheese dog at Franks. We left town completely full (thankfully the muumuu helped to hide the small cow I had just eaten) and we were on our way to Lake Pilsbury via San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge.
I decided to book us a room at the Garden Street Inn based on recommendations from my parents and its location exactly downtown. Plus, I had always been charmed by the late 19th century building, and so I was delightfully surprised at all of the additional details the inn had to offer: a full breakfast each morning, cookies awaiting our return each day and a wine and cheese happy hour from 5-6:30 every night. Anyone travelling to SLO and in the mood for something local and quaint, should stay here!
After the complimentary wine and cheese at the Inn, we took a walk around town while trying to decide where to eat…Buona Tavola for some Italian or Big Sky? We opted for Big Sky, one of my favorite restaurants in town and a typical California cuisine experience. With no cares in the world and no big pressure to see or do anything in particular, Martin and I headed to bed early, but not before a glass of wine on our own private deck.
The next morning we awoke fully refreshed and ready for a day at the beach. But first we had a few errands to run. First stop – the Black Horse at Uptown, for Martin to get his morning cappuccino (while we were served a full breakfast of waffles, eggs, bacon and coffee and juice, cappuccinos were not on the Garden Street Inn menu). Second Stop – a place with internet...I had one bill to pay online, so from coffee, we walked to the library (not to be confused with The Library, the bar…I made that mistake when initially asking the receptionist where we could find internet. Imagine…Her: “The Library has internet” Me: “The bar?!”… Yes, it was my immediate thought, resulting in a slightly awkward moment). It was my first time in any library in SLO (including both the county and college campus libraries) but we managed okay. Third and Final Stop – Gus’s Market for the best deli sandwiches to take to the beach.
The rest of the day was spent lounging at Avila Beach, swimming in the water, enjoying the sun, trying to figure out the kid to adult ratio (it seemed to be 30 to 1) and getting the most ridiculous burn lines I have ever seen, and this is coming from a red-haired, freckled Irish/Scottish descendent…a portion of my calves were burned where I rubbed off the sand along with the sunscreen and Martin managed to get what looked like a white Capital G on his right boob. My legs were so fried that I was forced to buy and wear a muumuu the following day to avoid additional exposure. Thankfully, it would have taken a lot more than a sun burn to ruin our day.
After fully cooking in the sun, Martin and I headed home quickly to shower before dinner with my aunt, uncle and cousin. We were going to a great new restaurant in Santa Marguerita called the Range and we had to get there early. The food, wine and company were all perfectly paired. Most of the dishes were based on locally raised meat and locally grown produce and everything was cooked to perfection…my lamb was the perfect shade of pink in the middle…it matched my face and legs exactly.
After the filling dinner (thankfully my cousin Livi was there to finish both desserts for us) we headed back into SLO for the final hours of the famous Thursday Night Farmers Market, one of my favorite things about the area and main reason for the dates of our visit We wandered through the stalls, smelling the fresh cut flowers, tasting the ripened fruits and wishing we weren’t so full so we could enjoy one of the many BBQs offered by the local restaurants. A quick beer at Frog and Peach helped us to end the night and we were once again in bed earlier than normal.
The next day we were faced with our biggest decision of the trip to date…where to have our final lunch before leaving. No trip to SLO is complete without the required lunch at both Franks Famous Hot Dogs and Firestone Grill. But not willing to slip back into my old ways and just have both, we settled on Firestones for the tri-tip sandwich and perfectly seasoned french fries. Yes, I chose Firestones over family, but I had my reasons…I guess we will just have to come back another time for the cheese dog at Franks. We left town completely full (thankfully the muumuu helped to hide the small cow I had just eaten) and we were on our way to Lake Pilsbury via San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A Local’s Tour of San Francisco
Thankfully Martin had been to San Francisco 12 years prior and therefore had already “ticked the box” on most of the touristy locations. And because of this, we were able to dedicate our time to a more local’s tour of the city; at least that was the plan.
We arrived at our hotel in Union Square (yes, slightly touristy, but at least centrally located) late on Sunday night, excited to be in “my” city and were welcomed by the rudest concierge possible (unfortunately that was not the end of bad service at the Westin, but no need to gripe about it, the rudeness was thankfully limited to hotel staff only, everyone else we met was completely friendly). But still, we were off to a rocky start…with it being so late and no idea what was still open, I opted for the closest restaurant, the Cheesecake Factory, and introduced Martin to “American sized portions”…our two salads could have feed a small village in Serbia.
Monday was spent walking around the city and checking out the various neighborhoods of San Francisco. We spent the morning wandering through the streets of Chinatown searching for the best dim sum restaurant we could find (which can be identified via finding the shadiest looking restaurant). We went for one on Broadway which was full of local patrons and the standard push cart fare. Dim sum is not always for everyone (the chicken feet can be a bit overwhelming) however Martin surprisingly tried (and enjoyed) most things I selected…although a double espresso shot in North Beach was required to get us out of the MSG OD coma. And if the coffee didn’t do the trick, the brisk walk up to Coit Tower revitalized us with the great views. We paused long enough to take a few photos and a hot lap inside the building.
We arrived at our hotel in Union Square (yes, slightly touristy, but at least centrally located) late on Sunday night, excited to be in “my” city and were welcomed by the rudest concierge possible (unfortunately that was not the end of bad service at the Westin, but no need to gripe about it, the rudeness was thankfully limited to hotel staff only, everyone else we met was completely friendly). But still, we were off to a rocky start…with it being so late and no idea what was still open, I opted for the closest restaurant, the Cheesecake Factory, and introduced Martin to “American sized portions”…our two salads could have feed a small village in Serbia.
Monday was spent walking around the city and checking out the various neighborhoods of San Francisco. We spent the morning wandering through the streets of Chinatown searching for the best dim sum restaurant we could find (which can be identified via finding the shadiest looking restaurant). We went for one on Broadway which was full of local patrons and the standard push cart fare. Dim sum is not always for everyone (the chicken feet can be a bit overwhelming) however Martin surprisingly tried (and enjoyed) most things I selected…although a double espresso shot in North Beach was required to get us out of the MSG OD coma. And if the coffee didn’t do the trick, the brisk walk up to Coit Tower revitalized us with the great views. We paused long enough to take a few photos and a hot lap inside the building.
Not willing to wait in the long line for the elevator to the top, we left the monument and made our way down the Greenwich street stairs, talking to the parrots along the way, then took the Embarcadero all the way to the Ferry Building for a look at the local organic produce. To end the full day of sight-seeing, I took Martin to his first Major League Baseball game, the Giants vs. the Dodgers. And while we lost, and half of the game was spent watching the various fights in the bleachers, I think Martin was able to grasp the concept of not only the game but also the rivalry of Nor Cal vs. So Cal…the rest of our time in SF, he would occasionally blurt out “Duck the Fodgers”
Like clockwork, we stopped for coffee that afternoon… however I may or may not have chosen the Buena Vista so at least the coffee could be spiked. After two Irish Coffees and a great conversation with a true SF native, we completed our walk back to the hotel through Russian Hill, just in time to get changed, and take a cab back to the marina for two dollar drinks at City Tavern (the place where, on any given Tuesday, you could find me).
So, while I was attempting to show Martin a relaxed, non-touristy version of San Francisco, looking back at what we did, I failed miserably! We did everything touristy!!! The only thing I may have missed from the traveler’s guides would be Bush Man between Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39 (and the only reason why we didn’t go was because Martin had already been). Unfortunately, with all of the sightseeing, I missed the main goal; a locals take on the city: the Bus Stop, great restaurants, Beach Blanket Babylon, and more. Good thing there will plenty of time to show him around local style on his next trip out…but for now, we were heading to San Luis Obispo, home of my Alma matter.Sunday, August 9, 2009
The Smith Family Reunion… Martin, Welcome to California!
Okay, so it was technically my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary, but seeing how my mom’s entire side of the family was there to celebrate, it did take on the qualities of a standard family reunion…a weekend away with the entire family, the uncomfortable conversations with the grandparents about how much more you should be doing with your life and the excessive drinking required to forgot those conversations and reconnect with the family…. Did I mention Martin landed on Friday and, after not seeing him for 6 weeks and a 15 hour flight, he experienced the full family assault of 2 grandparents, 2 uncles, 2 aunts, 2 cousins (both with fiances) my parents, brother, sister and brother-in-law. In my defense, I gave Martin full disclosure of the weekend before he bought his flight, so in my eyes, he is either a glutton for pain or he really loves me.
Feeling slightly guilty for the two day attack, I was able to dodge the mid-Saturday activities and take Martin to the Sacramento River for some swimming and fishing…jumping at the opportunity for an afternoon sans family, my sister, Ray and Dad all decided to offer their assistance in teaching Martin how to fly fish. The afternoon was a serious flashback to my childhood: sitting on the rocks at Wilburs, eating deli sandwiches, floating down the river on inner tubes, warming up in the “hot tub” (actually just Castle Creek built up to create a nice swimming hole) and shading ourselves from the sun with our “river hats” (made using elephant ear leaves). Martin’s first attempt at fishing was to be expected given the time of day and location… in short, uneventful.
On a mission to catch a fish before the day was over, my dad, grandpa and Martin all went out fishing that evening before dinner. And in an effort to eat dinner before 10pm, I was put in charge of BBQ-ing the tri-tip for 17 people while they were gone. Brilliant idea. Thankfully the guys returned before I could do too much damage to the meat, and they brought good news with them…this time Martin had caught a fish!, although the size of it might have been closer to a guppy, but there is no need to split hairs. To celebrate the anniversary, the new engagements (both cousins) and to make Martin feel more comfortable (that one might have been solely motivated by both me and my father), the night continued on with champagne, wine, beer, tequila and grappa… way too much grappa… a whole bottle of grappa to be exact, split between Martin, my dad, my brother and me. Martin was officially welcomed into the family.
Slightly groggy from the big night before, we still managed to wake up in time for breakfast with the family and one last shot at Martin catching a fish. Thankfully, the cold water of the river and a Burger Barn burger pulled me to my senses and I was able to properly congratulate Martin on his three fish caught. We left Dunsmuir feeling successful and happy, Martin had not only caught a fish, but we had survived the most stressful part of the holiday…We were off to San Francisco for some sight-seeing and time alone.
Feeling slightly guilty for the two day attack, I was able to dodge the mid-Saturday activities and take Martin to the Sacramento River for some swimming and fishing…jumping at the opportunity for an afternoon sans family, my sister, Ray and Dad all decided to offer their assistance in teaching Martin how to fly fish. The afternoon was a serious flashback to my childhood: sitting on the rocks at Wilburs, eating deli sandwiches, floating down the river on inner tubes, warming up in the “hot tub” (actually just Castle Creek built up to create a nice swimming hole) and shading ourselves from the sun with our “river hats” (made using elephant ear leaves). Martin’s first attempt at fishing was to be expected given the time of day and location… in short, uneventful.
On a mission to catch a fish before the day was over, my dad, grandpa and Martin all went out fishing that evening before dinner. And in an effort to eat dinner before 10pm, I was put in charge of BBQ-ing the tri-tip for 17 people while they were gone. Brilliant idea. Thankfully the guys returned before I could do too much damage to the meat, and they brought good news with them…this time Martin had caught a fish!, although the size of it might have been closer to a guppy, but there is no need to split hairs. To celebrate the anniversary, the new engagements (both cousins) and to make Martin feel more comfortable (that one might have been solely motivated by both me and my father), the night continued on with champagne, wine, beer, tequila and grappa… way too much grappa… a whole bottle of grappa to be exact, split between Martin, my dad, my brother and me. Martin was officially welcomed into the family.
Slightly groggy from the big night before, we still managed to wake up in time for breakfast with the family and one last shot at Martin catching a fish. Thankfully, the cold water of the river and a Burger Barn burger pulled me to my senses and I was able to properly congratulate Martin on his three fish caught. We left Dunsmuir feeling successful and happy, Martin had not only caught a fish, but we had survived the most stressful part of the holiday…We were off to San Francisco for some sight-seeing and time alone.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
My Happy Place – Lake Pilsbury
After spending the past two summers attending weddings and exploring my new digs (Switzerland, that is), I gave up the traditional summer of traveling around Europe in order to spend a few glorious weeks at one of my favorite places in the world, Lake Pilsbury. By way of definition, Lake Pilsbury is a small lake near Mendocino, accessible only by dirt road, and the summer destination for those lucky few to have a cabin on the lake or has a friend who has a cabin on the lake.
But for those who truly know Pilsbury, the Lake is so much more. For me it was where I spent every summer growing up, getting picked up by the parents on the last day of school with the car packed and boat trailer hooked up. It is where I had my first summer romance “thing” which ended with an infamous jet ski ride…I should have known things weren’t going to work out between the two of us, I was a boat girl, he was a jet ski guy. It is where I first learned to drive a car and a boat and where I had my first taste of tequila (Jose Cuervo to be exact) thanks to our neighbor Frank and his “teenage margaritas”. It is truly great place to grow up. The Lake for me is a large, every growing extended family, and I mean that both figuratively and literally (my sister married the son of another cabin owner, who’s own sister is married to our next door neighbor, whose mother in law, well, you get the picture).
After the quick drive up from the Bay Area, it took all of 6 hours after arriving to completely rid myself of all responsibilities, thoughts of work or the real life and get back into the Lake mentality. My days were spent waking up early for the perfect water for the perfect ski, followed by late breakfasts (heuvos rancheros on Sundays), afternoons on the boat either wake surfing, tubing, or when things got really bad, double skiing, appetizers and drinks starting around 4pm, an evening ski with the necessary pit stop at the friends cabin across the lake for some beer and gossip, and of course ending with dinner well after dark and inappropriate jokes that only come about with close friends and too much liquor.
The bliss of vacation could only be slightly dampened by me getting stung by a yellow jacket just before my college friends arrived. Apparently I hadn’t over exaggerated the pain of getting bitten as a child…it still hurt like a mother! And to make things worse I forewent immediate attention (i.e. baking soda and/or onion) in order to still make the morning ski resulting in the worst swelling I have ever experienced. It got to the point where I couldn’t close my hand and, to ensure the swelling didn’t continue to my heart, I marked my arm where the swelling ended so I would know if and when I should go to the hospital. Thankfully, the swelling subsided and I was back to normal in no time.
Two weeks into the holiday and it seemed like I had never moved away; everything was just as it should be. The holiday flew by too quickly and I look forward to going back. The holiday ended just as it should have, with an evening ski, shot of Hornitos tequila and dinner well after dark.
It is good to know that after 28 years, the only that has really changed up at the Lake is the quality of tequila.
But for those who truly know Pilsbury, the Lake is so much more. For me it was where I spent every summer growing up, getting picked up by the parents on the last day of school with the car packed and boat trailer hooked up. It is where I had my first summer romance “thing” which ended with an infamous jet ski ride…I should have known things weren’t going to work out between the two of us, I was a boat girl, he was a jet ski guy. It is where I first learned to drive a car and a boat and where I had my first taste of tequila (Jose Cuervo to be exact) thanks to our neighbor Frank and his “teenage margaritas”. It is truly great place to grow up. The Lake for me is a large, every growing extended family, and I mean that both figuratively and literally (my sister married the son of another cabin owner, who’s own sister is married to our next door neighbor, whose mother in law, well, you get the picture).
After the quick drive up from the Bay Area, it took all of 6 hours after arriving to completely rid myself of all responsibilities, thoughts of work or the real life and get back into the Lake mentality. My days were spent waking up early for the perfect water for the perfect ski, followed by late breakfasts (heuvos rancheros on Sundays), afternoons on the boat either wake surfing, tubing, or when things got really bad, double skiing, appetizers and drinks starting around 4pm, an evening ski with the necessary pit stop at the friends cabin across the lake for some beer and gossip, and of course ending with dinner well after dark and inappropriate jokes that only come about with close friends and too much liquor.
The bliss of vacation could only be slightly dampened by me getting stung by a yellow jacket just before my college friends arrived. Apparently I hadn’t over exaggerated the pain of getting bitten as a child…it still hurt like a mother! And to make things worse I forewent immediate attention (i.e. baking soda and/or onion) in order to still make the morning ski resulting in the worst swelling I have ever experienced. It got to the point where I couldn’t close my hand and, to ensure the swelling didn’t continue to my heart, I marked my arm where the swelling ended so I would know if and when I should go to the hospital. Thankfully, the swelling subsided and I was back to normal in no time.
Two weeks into the holiday and it seemed like I had never moved away; everything was just as it should be. The holiday flew by too quickly and I look forward to going back. The holiday ended just as it should have, with an evening ski, shot of Hornitos tequila and dinner well after dark.
It is good to know that after 28 years, the only that has really changed up at the Lake is the quality of tequila.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)